... 


BOOKS  BY 
GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  CARDINAL 

HOMING  WITH  THE  BIRDS 

BIRDS  OF  THE  BIBLE 

Music  OF  THE  WILD 

FRIENDS  IN  FEATHERS 

MOTHS  OF  THE  LlMBERLOST 

MORNING  FACE 


0«&^'''/0> 


BOOKS  BY 
GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 


Novels 

FRECKLES 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW 

A  GlRL  OF  THE  LlMBERLOST 

THE  HARVESTER 

LADDIE 

MICHAEL  O'HALLORAN 

A   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   LAND 

HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 


'Because  I  am  a  woman  to-day,  I  shall  set  my 
seal  upon  you ' ' 


HER 

FATHER'S 
DAUGHTER 

BY 

GENE  STRATTON- PORTER 


•       .-.  IPK ON  rr> !•;>/: c'K  .' 

*:":         BY 


DUDLEY  GLOY1SE  SUMMERS 


GARDE  f    CITY,  N.  Y.,    AND   TORONTO 

DQUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1921 


•'' 


CONTENTS 

C"H  M'TER 
I. 

"WHAT  KIND  or  SHOFS  ARE 
THE  SHOES  You  WEAR?"    . 

rv.K 
I 

II. 

COTYLEDON  OF  MULTIFLOKJ:S 
CANTON 

IQ 

III. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  DRLAMS    .      . 

1  J 

U 

IV. 

LINDA  STARTS  A  REVOLUTION. 

53 

V. 

THE  SMOKE  OK  BATTLE      .     . 

<^5 

VI. 

VII. 

JANE  MEREDITH      .... 
TRYING  YUCCA  . 

74 
84 

VIII. 

THF  B  FAR-CAT 

T" 

Q7 

IX. 

ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT.  Pi  us 

V** 

104 

X. 

KATV  TO  THE  RESCUE  . 

121 

XL 

ASSISTING  PROVIDENCE      .     . 

136 

XII. 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND 

143 

XIII. 

LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OK  LIFE 

161 

XIV. 

SATURDAY'S  CHJLP  .... 

i77 

XV. 

LINDA'S  HEARTHSTONE 

199 

XVI. 

PRODUCING  THE  EVIDENCE 

209 

XVII. 

A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME. 

217 

y~\/"\X  Trr*T~*'"»V  T*"l  V* 

| 

CH  M*TKR 

xviii. 

CON  1  E  ]N  1  6 

SPANISH  IRIS      .... 

r\<;< 
236 

1 

XIX. 

THE  OFFICIAL  BUG  CATCHER 

250 

n 

XX. 

THE  CAP  SHEAF.      .      .      . 

202 

I 

XXL 

SHIFTING    THE    RESPONSI 
BILITY 

271 

fJm 

XXII. 

THI-:  t'.No  OK  MARIAN'S  CON 
TEST     

*•  /  L 
283 

I 
i 

XXIII. 

THE  DAV  OF  JUBILEE    .      . 

293 

1 

XXIV. 

LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY    . 

3IO 

i 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

BUKNA  Mo/.  A         .... 

A.  ^lousti  Is  '  '>  T 

330 
^  CO 

i 

XXVII. 

THE  STRAIGHT  AND  NARROW 

J3W 

304 

I 

XXVIII. 

PUITING  IT  UP  TO  PETER  . 

377 

i 

XXIX. 

KATY     UNBURDENS      HER 
MIND    

387 

1 

XXX. 

PETER'S  RELEASE    . 

410 

1 

XXXI. 

THE    END    OF     DONALD'S 
CONTEST    

428 

I 

XXXII. 

How  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER 
NEST    

458 

i 

XXXIII. 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  IRIS  . 

477 

i 

^1^       "^^^^H 

1 


»:  -:>i 


DAUGHTER 


.HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 


"I  say,"  said  Donald  Whiting,  "I  call  that  a  mean 
thrust." 

"I  have  a  particular  reason,"  said  Linda. 

"And  I  have  'a  particular  reason',"  said  Donald,  "for 
being  interested  in  your  shoes." 

Linda  laughed  suddenly.  When  Linda  laughed,  which 
was  very  seldom,  those  within  hearing  turned  to  look  at 
her.  Hers  was  not  a  laugh  that  can  be  achieved.  There 
were  a  few  high  places  on  the  peak  of  Linda's  soul,  and  on 
one  of  them  homed  a  small  flock  of  notes  of  rapture;  notes 
as  sweet  as  the  voice  of  the  white-banded  mocking-bird 
of  Argentina. 

"How  surprising!"  exclaimed  Linda.  "We  have  been 
attending  the  same  school  for  three  years;  now,  you  stop 
me  suddenly  to  tell  me  that  you  are  interested  in  the  shape 
of  my  shoes." 

"I  have  been  watching  them  all  the  time,"  said 
Donald.  "I  can't  understand  why  any  girl  wants  to  be 
so  different.  Why  don't  you  dress  your  hair  the  same 
as  the  other  girls  and  wear  the  same  kind  of  clothes  and 
shoes?" 

"Now  look  here,"  interposed  Linda.  "You  are  flying 
the  track.  I  am  willing  to  justify  my  shoes,  if  I  can,  but 
here  you  go  including  my  dress  and  a  big  psychological 
problem,  as  well;  but  I  think  perhaps  the  why  of  the 
shoes  will  explain  the  remainder.  Does  the  name  'Alex 
ander  Strong'  mean  anything  to  you?" 

"The  great  nerve  specialist?"  asked  Donald. 

"Yes,"  said  Linda.     "The  man  who  was  the  author  of 


"WHAT  KIND  OF  SHOES?"  3 

half  a  dozen  books  that  have  been  translated  into  many 
foreign  tongues,  and  are  used  as  authorities  all  over  the 
world.  He  happened  to  be  my  father.  There  are  two 
children  in  our  family.  I  have  a  sister  four  years  older 
than  I  am  who  is  exactly  like  Mother,  and  she  and  Mother 
were  inseparable.  I  am  exactly  like  Father;  and  because 
we  understood  each  other,  and  because  both  of  us  always 
knew,  although  we  never  mentioned  it,  that  Mother  pre 
ferred  my  sister  Eileen  to  me,  Father  tried  to  make  it 
up  to  me,  so  from  the  time  I  can  remember  I  was  at  his 
heels.  It  never  bothered  him  to  have  me  playing  around 
in  the  library  while  he  was  writing  his  most  complicated 
treatise.  I  have  waited  in  his  car  half  a  day  at  a  time, 
playing  or  reading,  while  he  watched  a  patient  or  delivered 
a  lecture  at  some  medical  college.  His  mental  relaxation 
was  to  hike  or  to  motor  to  the  sea,  to  the  mountains,  to  the 
canyons  or  the  desert,  and  he  very  seldom  went  without 
me  even  on  long  trips  when  he  was  fishing  or  hunting 
with  other  men.  There  was  not  much  to  know  concerning 
a  woman's  frame  or  her  psychology  that  Father  did  not 
know,  so  there  were  two  reasons  why  he  selected  my  foot 
wear  as  he  did.  One  was  because  he  believed  high  heels 
and  pointed  toes  an  outrage  against  the  nervous  system  of 
a  woman  that  would  in  time  bring  her  within  his  province, 
and  the  other  was  that  I  could  not  possibly  have  kept  pace 
with  him  except  in  shoes  like  these.  No  doubt,  they  are 
the  same  kind  I  shall  wear  all  my  life,  for  walking.  You 
probably  don't  know  it,  but  my  home  lies  near  the  middle 
of  Lilac  Valley  and  I  walk  over  a  mile  each  morning  and 


4  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

evening  to  and  from  the  cars.  Does  this  sufficiently  ex 
plain  my  shoes?" 

"I  should  think  you'd  feel  queer,"  said  Donald. 

"I  suspect  I  would  if  I  had  time  to  brood  over  it,"  Linda 
replied,  "but  I  haven't.  I  must  hustle  to  get  to  school  on 
time  in  the  morning.  It's  nearly  or  quite  dark  before  I 
reach  home  in  the  evening.  My  father  believed  in  having 
a  good  time.  He  had  superb  health,  so  he  spent  most  of 
what  he  made  as  it  came  to  him.  He  counted  on  a  long 
life.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  a  little  piece  of  ma 
chinery  going  wrong  would  plunge  him  into  Eternity  in 
a  second." 

"Oh,  I  remember!"  cried  the  boy. 

Linda's  face  paled  slightly. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "it  happened  four  years  ago  and  I 
haven't  gotten  away  from  the  horror  of  it  yet,  enough  ever 
to  step  inside  of  a  motor  car;  but  I  am  going  to  get  over 
that  one  of  these  days.  Brakes  are  not  all  defective,  and 
one  must  take  one's  risks." 

"You  just  bet  I  would,"  said  Donald.  "Motoring  is 
one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  modern  life.  I'll  wager  it 
makes  some  of  the  gay  old  boys,  like  Marcus  Aurelius 
for  example,  want  to  turn  over  in  their  graves  when 
they  see  us  flying  along  the  roads  of  California  the  way 
we  do." 

"What  I  was  getting  at,"  said  Linda,  "was  a  word  of 
reply  to  the  remainder  of  your  indictment  against  me. 
Dad's  income  stopped  with  him,  and  household  expenses 
went  on,  and  war  came,  so  there  isn't  enough  money  to 


"WHAT  KIND  OF  SHOES?"  5 

dress  two  of  us  as  most  of  the  High-School  girls  are  dressed. 
Eileen  is  so  much  older  that  it's  her  turn  first,  and  I  must 
say  she  is  not  at  all  backward  about  exercising  her  rights. 
I  think  that  will  have  to  suffice  for  the  question  of  dress; 
but  you  may  be  sure  that  I  am  capable  of  wearing  the 
loveliest  dress  imaginable,  that  would  be  suitable  for  a 
schoolgirl,  if  I  had  it  to  wear/' 

"Ah,  there's  the  little  'fly  in  your  ointment' — 'dress  that 
would  be  suitable.'  I  bet  in  your  heart  you  think  the 
dresses  that  half  the  girls  in  High  School  are  wearing  are 
not  suitable!" 

"Commendable  perspicacity,  O  learned  senior,"  said 
Linda,  "and  amazingly  true.  In  the  few  short  years  I  had 
with  Daddy  I  acquired  a  fixed  idea  as  to  what  kind  of 
dress  is  suitable  and  sufficiently  durable  to  wear  while 
walking  my  daily  two  miles.  I  can't  seem  to  become  rec 
onciled  to  the  custom  of  dressing  the  same  for  school  as 
for  a  party.  You  get  my  idea?" 

"I  get  it  all  right  enough,"  said  Donald,  "but  I  must 
think  awhile  before  I  decide  whether  I  agree  with  you. 
Why  should  you  be  right,  and  hundreds  of  other  girls  be 
wrong?" 

"I'll  wager  your  mother  would  agree  with  me,"  sug 
gested  Linda. 

"Did  yours?"  asked  Donald. 

"Half  way,"  answered  Linda.  "She  agreed  with  me 
for  me,  but  not  for  Eileen." 

"And  not  for  my  sister,"  said  Donald.  "She  wears  the 
very  foxiest  clothes  that  Father  can  afford  to  pay  for,  and 


6  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

when  she  was  going  to  school  she  wore  them  without  the 
least  regard  as  to  whether  she  was  going  to  school  or  to  a 
tea  party  or  a  matinee.  For  that  matter  she  frequently 
went  to  all  three  the  same  day." 

"And  that  brings  us  straight  to  the  point  concerning 
you,"  said  Linda. 

"Sure  enough!"  said  Donald.  "There  is  me  to  be 
considered.  What  is  it  you  have  against  me?" 

Linda  looked  at  him  meditatively. 

"You  seem  exceptionally  strong,"  she  said.  "No 
doubt  you  are  good  in  athletics.  Your  head  looks  all  right; 
it  indicates  brains.  What  I  want  to  know  is  why  in  the 
wTorld  you  don't  use  them." 

"What  are  you  getting  at,  anyway?"  asked  Donald, 
with  more  than  a  hint  of  asperity  in  his  voice. 

"I  am  getting  at  the  fact,"  said  Linda,  "that  a  boy  as 
big  as  you  and  as  strong  as  you  and  with  as  good  brain 
and  your  opportunities  has  allowed  a  little  brown  Jap  to 
cross  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  in  a  totally  strange  country  to 
learn  a  language  foreign  to  him,  and,  with  the  same  books 
and  the  same  chances,  to  beat  you  at  your  own  game. 
You  and  every  other  boy  in  your  classes  ought  to  be 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  yourselves.  Before  I  would  let 
a  Jap,  either  boy  or  girl,  lead  in  my  class,  I  would  give 
up  going  to  school  and  go  out  and  see  if  I  could  beat  him 
growing  lettuce  and  spinach. 

"It's  all  very  well  to  talk,"  said  Donald  hotly. 

"And  it's  better  to  make  good  what  you  say,"  broke  in 
Linda,  with  equal  heat.  "There  are  half  a  dozen  Japs  in 


"WHAT  KIND  OF  SHOES?"  7 

my  classes  but  no  one  of  them  is  leading,  you  will  notice, 
if  I  do  wear  peculiar  shoes." 

"Well,  you  would  be  going  some  if  you  beat  the  leading 
Jap  in  the  senior  class,"  said  Donald. 

"Then  I  would  go  some,"  said  Linda.  "  I'd  beat  him,  or 
Td  go  straight  up  trying.  You  could  do  it  if  you'd  make 
up  your  mind  to.  The  trouble  with  you  is  that  you're 
wasting  your  brain  on  speeding  an  automobile,  on  dances, 
and  all  sorts  of  foolishness  that  is  not  doing  you  any  good  in 
any  particular  way.  Bet  you  are  developing  nerves  smok 
ing  cigarettes.  You  are  not  concentrating.  Oka  Sayye  is 
not  thinking  of  a  thing  except  the  triumph  of  proving  to 
California  that  he  is  head  man  in  one  of  the  Los  Angeles 
high  schools.  That's  what  I  have  got  against  you,  and 
every  other  white  boy  in  your  class,  and  in  the  long  run 
it  stacks  up  bigger  than  your  arraignment  of  my  shoes." 

"Oh,  darn  your  shoes!"  cried  Donald  hotly.  "Forget 
'em!  I've  got  to  move  on  or  I'll  be  late  for  trigonometry, 
but  I  don't  know  when  I've  had  such  a  tidy  little  fight 
with  a  girl,  and  I  don't  enjoy  feeling  that  I  have  been 
worsted.  I  propose  another  session.  May  I  come  out  to 
Lilac  Valley  Saturday  afternoon  and  flay  you  alive  to  pay 
up  for  my  present  humiliation  ? " 

"Why,  if  your  mother  happened  to  be  motoring  that 
way  and  would  care  to  call,  I  think  that  would  be  fine," 
said  Linda. 

"Well,  for  the  Lord's  sake!"  exclaimed  the  irate  senior. 
"Can't  a  fellow  come  and  fight  with  you  without  being 
refereed  by  his  mother?  Shall  I  bring  Father  too?" 


8  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"I  only  thought,"  said  Linda  quietly,  "that  you  would 
like  your  mother  to  see  the  home  and  environment  of  any 
girl  whose  acquaintance  you  made,  but  the  fight  we  have 
coming  will  in  all  probability  be  such  a  pitched  battle  that 
when  I  go  over  the  top,  you  won't  ever  care  to  follow  me 
and  start  another  issue  on  the  other  side.  You're  dying 
right  now  to  ask  why  I  wear  my  hair  in  braids  down  my 
back  instead  of  in  cootie  coops  over  my  ears." 

"I  don't  give  a  hang,"  said  Donald  ungallantly,  "as  to 
how  you  wear  your  hair,  but  I  am  coming  Saturday  to 
fight,  and  I  don't  think  Mother  will  take  any  greater 
interest  in  the  matter  than  to  know  that  I  am  going  to  do 
battle  with  a  daughter  of  Doctor  Strong." 

"That  is  a  very  nice  compliment  to  my  daddy,  thank 
you,"  said  Linda,  turning  away  and  proceeding  in  the  di 
rection  of  her  own  class  rooms.  There  was  a  'brilliant 
sparkle  in  her  eyes  and  she  sang  in  a  muffled  voice,  yet 
distinctly  enough  to  be  heard: 

"The  shoes  I  wear  are  common-sense  shoes, 
And  you  may  wear  them  if  you  choose." 

"By  gracious!  she's  no  fool,"  he  said  to  himself.  In 
three  minutes'  unpremeditated  talk  the  "Junior  Freak," 
as  he  mentally  denominated  her,  had  managed  to  irritate 
him,  to  puncture  his  pride,  to  entertain  and  amuse  him. 

"I  wonder "  he  said  as  he  went  his  way;  and  all  day 

he  kept  on  wondering,  when  he  was  not  studying  harder 
than  ever  before  in  all  his  life. 


"WHAT  KIND  OF  SHOES?"  9 

That  night  Linda  walked  slowly  along  the  road  toward 
home.  She  was  not  seeing  the  broad  stretch  of  Lilac 
Valley,  on  every  hand  green  with  spring,  odorous  with 
citrus  and  wild  bloom,  blue  walled  with  lacy  lilacs  veiling 
the  mountain  face  on  either  side;  and  she  was  not  thinking 
of  her  plain,  well-worn  dress  or  her  common-sense  shoes. 
What  she  was  thinking  was  of  every  flaying,  scathing, 
solidly  based  argument  she  could  produce  the  following 
Saturday  to  spur  Donald  Whiting  in  some  way  to  surpass 
Oka  Sayye.  His  chance  remark  that  morning,  as  they 
stood  near  each  other  waiting  a  few  minutes  in  the  hall, 
had  ended  in  his  asking  to  come  to  see  her,  and  she 
decided  as  she  walked  homeward  that  his  first  visit 
in  all  probability  would  be  his  last,  since  she  had  not 
time  to  spare  for  boys,  when  she  had  so  many  different 
interests  involved;  but  she  did  decide  very  firmly  in  her 
own  mind  that  she  would  make  that  visit  a  memorable 
one  for  him. 

In  arriving  at  this  decision  her  mind  travelled  a  number 
of  devious  roads.  The  thought  that  she  had  been  criti 
cized  did  not  annoy  her  as  to  the  kind  of  criticism,  but  she 
did  resent  the  quality  of  truth  about  it.  She  was  right 
in  following  the  rules  her  father  had  laid  down  for  her 
health  and  physical  well-being,  but  was  it  right  that  she 
should  wear  shoes  scuffed,  resoled,  and  even  patched, 
when  there  was  money  enough  for  Eileen  to  have  many 
pairs  of  expensive  laced  boots,  walking  shoes,  and  fancy 
slippers?  She  was  sure  she  was  right  in  wearing  dresses 
suitable  for  school,  but  was  it  right  that  she  must  wear 


io      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

them  until  they  were  sun-faded,  stained,  and  disreputable? 
Was  it  right  that  Eileen  should  occupy  their  fathers  and 
mother's  suite,  redecorated  and  daintily  furnished  ac 
cording  to  her  own  taste,  to  keep  the  parts  of  the  house 
that  she  cared  to  use  decorated  with  flowers  and  beauti 
fully  appointed,  while  Linda  must  lock  herself  in  a  small 
stuffy  bedroom,  dingy  and  none  too  comfortable,  when 
in  deference  to  her  pride  she  wished  to  work  in  secret  until 
she  learned  whether  she  could  succeed. 
Then  she  began  thinking,  and  decided  that  the  only 
available  place  in  the  house  for  her  use  was  the  billiard 
room.  She  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  demand  the 
sole  right  to  this  big  attic  room.  She  would  sell  the  table 
and  use  the  money  to  buy  herself  a  suitable  work  table  and 
a  rug.  She  would  demand  that  Eileen  produce  enough 
money  for  better  clothing  for  her,  and  then  she  remem 
bered  what  she  had  said  to  Donald  Whiting  about  con 
quering  her  horror  for  a  motor  car.  Linda  turned  in  at 
the  walk  leading  to  her  home,  but  she  passed  the  front 
entrance  and  followed  around  to  the  side.  As  she  went 
she  could  hear  voices  in  the  living  room  and  she  knew 
that  Eileen  was  entertaining  some  of  her  many  friends; 
for  Eileen  was  that  peculiar  creature  known  as  a  social 
butterfly.  Each  day  of  her  life  friends  came,  or  Eileen 
went — mostly  the  latter,  for  Eileen  had  a  knack  of  man 
agement  and  she  so  managed  her  friends  that,  without 
their  realizing  it,  they  entertained  her  many  times  while 
she  entertained  them  once.  Linda  went  to  the  kitchen, 
laid  her  books  and  package  of  mail  on  the  table,  and, 


"WHAT  KIND  OF  SHOES?"  n 

walking  over  to  the  stove,  she  proceeded  deliberately  and 
heartily  to  kiss  the  cook. 

"Katy,  me  darlin',"  she  said,  "look  upon  your  only 
child.  Do  you  notice  a  'lean  and  hungry  look'  on  her 
classic  features?" 

Katy  turned  adoring  eyes  to  the  young  girl. 

"It's  growing  so  fast  ye  are,  childie,"  she  said.  "It's 
only  a  little  while  to  dinner,  and  there's  company  to-night, 
so  hadn't  ye  better  wait  and  not  spoil  your  appetite  with 
piecing?" 

"Is  there  going  to  be  anything  'jarvis'?"  inquired 
Linda. 

"I'd  say  there  is,"  said  Katy.  "John  Oilman  is  here 
and  two  girl  friends  of  Eileen's.  It's  a  near  banquet, 
lassie." 

"Then  I'll  wait,"  said  Linda.  "I  want  the  keys  to  the 
garage." 

Katy  handed  them  to  her  and  Linda  went  down  the 
back  walk  beneath  an  arch  of  tropical  foliage,  between 
blazing  walls  of  brilliant  flower  faces,  unlocked  the  garage, 
and  stood  looking  at  her  father's  runabout. 

In  the  revolution  that  had  taken  place  in  their  home 
after  the  passing  of  their  father  and  mother,  Eileen  had 
dominated  the  situation  and  done  as  she  pleased,  with  the 
exception  of  two  instances.  Linda  had  shown  both  tem 
per  and  determination  at  the  proposal  to  dismantle  the 
library  and  dispose  of  the  cars.  She  had  told  Eileen  that 
she  might  take  the  touring  car  and  do  as  she  pleased  with 
it.  For  her  share  she  wanted  her  father's  roadster,  and 


12      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

she  meant  to  have  it.  She  took  the  same  firm  stand 
concerning  the  library.  With  the  rest  of  the  house  Eileen 
might  do  as  she  would.  The  library  was  to  remain 
absolutely  untouched  and  what  it  contained  was  Linda's. 
To  this  Eileen  had  agreed,  but  so  far  Linda  had  been 
content  merely  to  possess  her  property. 

Lately,  driven  by  the  feeling  that  she  must  find  a  way 
in  which  she  could  earn  money,  she  had  been  secretly 
working  on  some  plans  that  she  hoped  might  soon  yield 
her  small  returns.  As  for  the  roadster,  she  as  well  as 
Eileen  had  been  horror-stricken  when  the  car  containing 
their  father  and  mother  and  their  adjoining  neighbours, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thorne,  driven  by  Marian  Thorne,  the 
playmate  and  companion  from  childhood  of  the  Strong 
girls,  had  become  uncontrollable  and  plunged  down  the 
mountain  in  a  disaster  that  had  left  only  Marian,  protected 
by  the  steering  gear,  alive.  They  had  simply  by  mutual 
agreement  begun  using  the  street  cars  when  they  wanted 
to  reach  the  city. 

Linda  stood  looking  at  the  roadster,  jacked  up  and 
tucked  under  a  heavy  canvas  tent  that  she  and  her  father 
had  used  on  their  hunting  and  fishing  trips.  After  a  long 
time  she  laid  strong  hands  on  the  canvas  and  dragged  it  to 
one  side.  She  looked  the  car  over  carefully  and  then,  her 
face  very  white  and  her  hands  trembling,  she  climbed  into 
it  and  slowly  and  mechanically  went  through  the  motions 
of  starting  it.  For  another  intent  period  she  sat  with  her 
hands  on  the  steering  gear,  staring  straight  ahead,  and 
then  she  said  slowly:  "Something  has  got  to  be  done. 


"WHAT  KIND  OF  SHOES?"  13 

It's  not  going  to  be  very  agreeable,  but  I  am  going  to  do  it. 
Eileen  has  had  things  all  her  own  way  long  enough.  I  am 
getting  such  a  big  girl  I  ought  to  have  a  few  things  in  my 
life  as  I  want  them.  Something  must  be  done." 

Then  Linda  proceeded  to  do  something.  What  she  did 
was  to  lean  forward,  rest  her  head  upon  the  steering  wheel 
and  fight  to  keep  down  deep,  pitiful  sobbing  until  her  whole 
slender  body  twisted  in  the  effort. 

She  was  yielding  to  a  breaking  up  after  four  years  of 
endurance,  for  the  greater  part  in  silence.  As  the  months 
of  the  past  year  had  rolled  their  deliberate  way,  Linda 
had  begun  to  realize  that  the  course  her  elder  sister  had 
taken  was  wholly  unfair  to  her,  and  slowly  a  tumult  of 
revolt  was  growing  in  her  soul.  Without  a  doubt  the 
culmination  had  resulted  from  her  few  minutes'  talk  with 
Donald  Whiting  in  the  hall  that  morning.  It  had  started 
Linda  to  thinking  deeply,  and  the  more  deeply  she  thought 
the  more  clearly  she  saw  the  situation.  Linda  was  a  loyal 
soul  and  her  heart  was  honest.  She  was  quite  willing 
that  Eileen  should  exercise  her  rights  as  head  of  the  family, 
that  she  should  take  the  precedence  to  which  she  was 
entitled  by  her  four  years'  seniority,  that  she  should 
spend  the  money  which  accrued  monthly  from  their 
father's  estate  as  she  saw  fit,  up  to  a  certain  point.  That 
point  was  where  things  ceased  to  be  fair  or  to  be  just.  If 
there  had  been  money  to  do  no  more  for  Eileen  than  had 
been  done  for  Linda,  it  would  not  have  been  in  Linda's 
heart  to  utter  a  complaint.  She  could  have  worn  scuffed 
shoes  and  old  dresses,  and  gone  her  way  with  her  proud 


i4      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

young  head  held  very  high  and  a  jest  on  her  lips;  but  when 
her  mind  really  fastened  on  the  problem  and  she  began  to 
reason,  she  could  not  feel  that  Eileen  was  just  to  her  or 
that  she  was  fair  in  her  administration  of  the  money  which 
should  have  been  divided  more  nearly  equally  between 
them,  after  the  household  expenses  had  been  paid.  Once 
rebellion  burned  in  her  heart  the  flames  leaped  rapidly,  and 
Linda  began  to  remember  a  thousand  small  things  that  she 
had  scarcely  noted  at  the  time  of  their  occurrence. 

She  was  leaning  on  the  steering  wheel,  tired  with  nerve 
strain,  when  she  heard  Katy  calling  her,  and  realized  that 
she  was  needed  in  the  kitchen.  As  a  matter  of  economy 
Eileen,  after  her  parents'  passing,  had  dismissed  the  house 
maid,  and  when  there  were  guests  before  whom  she  wished 
to  make  a  nice  appearance  Linda  had  been  impressed 
either  to  wait  on  the  table  or  to  help  in  the  kitchen  in  order 
that  Katy  might  attend  the  dining  room,  so  Linda  under 
stood  what  was  wanted  when  Katy  called  her.  She  ran 
her  fingers  over  the  steering  wheel,  worn  bright  by  the 
touch  of  her  father's  and  her  own  hands,  and  with  the 
buoyancy  of  youth,  found  comfort.  Once  more  she  me 
chanically  went  through  the  motions  of  starting  the  car, 
then  she  stepped  down,  closed  the  door,  and  stood  an 
instant  thinking. 

"You're  four  years  behind  the  times,"  she  said  slowly. 
"No  doubt  there's  a  newer  and  a  better  model;  I  suspect 
the  tires  are  rotten,  but  the  last  day  I  drove  you  for 
Daddy  you  purred  like  a  kitten,  and  ran  like  a  clock,  and 
if  you  were  cleaned  and  oiled  and  put  in  proper  shape, 


"WHAT  KIND  OF  SHOES  ?"  15 

there's  no  reason  in  the  world  why  I  should  not  drive  you 
again,  as  I  have  driven  you  hundreds  of  miles  when  Daddy 
was  tired  or  when  he  wanted  to  teach  me  the  rules  of  good 
motoring,  and  the  laws  of  the  road.  I  can  do  it  all  right. 
I  have  got  to  do  it,  but  it  will  be  some  time  before  I'll  care 
to  tackle  the  mountains." 

Leaving  the  cover  on  the  floor,  she  locked  the  door  and 
returned  to  the  kitchen. 

"All  right,  Katy,  what  is  the  programme?"  she  inquired 
as  lightly  as  she  could. 

Katy  had  been  cook  in  the  Strong  family  ever  since  they 
had  moved  to  Lilac  Valley.  She  had  obeyed  Mrs.  Strong 
and  Eileen.  She  had  worshipped  the  Doctor  and  Linda. 
It  always  had  been  patent  to  her  eyes  that  Mrs.  Strong  was 
extremely  partial  to  Eileen,  so  Katy  had  joined  forces  with 
the  Doctor  in  surreptitiously  doing  everything  her  warm 
Irish  heart  prompted  to  prevent  Linda  from  feeling  neg-v 
lected.  Her  quick  eyes  saw  the  traces  of  tears  on  Linda's 
face,  and  she  instantly  knew  that  the  trip  the  girl  had  made 
to  the  garage  was  in  some  way  connected  with  some  be 
longings  of  her  father's,  so  she  said:  "I  am  serving  to 
night,  but  I  want  you  to  keep  things  smoking  hot  and  to 
have  them  dished  up  ready  for  me  so  that  everything  will 
go  smoothly." 

"What  wrould  happen,"  inquired  Linda,  "if  everything, 
did  not  go  smoothly  ?  Katy,  do  you  think  the  roof  would 
blow  straight  up  if  I  had  my  way  about  something,  just  for 
a  change?" 

"No,  I  think  the  roof  would  stay  right  where  it  belongs/* 


16      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

said  Katy  with  a  chuckle,  "but  I  do  think  its  staying  there 
would  not  be  because  Miss  Eileen  wanted  it  to." 

"Well,"  said  Linda,  deliberately,  "we  won't  waste  any 
time  on  thinking.  We  are  going  to  have  some  positive 
knowledge  on  the  subject  pretty  immediately.  I  don't 
feel  equal  to  starting  any  domestic  santana  to-day,  but  the 
forces  are  gathering  and  the  blow  is  coming  soon.  To 
that  I  have  firmly  made  up  my  mind." 

"It's  not  the  least  mite  I'm  blaming  you,  honey,"  said 
Katy.  "Ye've  got  to  be  such  a  big  girl  that  it's  only  fair 
things  in  this  house  should  go  a  good  deal  different." 

"Is  Marian  to  be  here?"  asked  Linda  as  she  stood  beside 
the  stove,  peering  into  pans  and  kettles. 

"Miss  Eileen  didn't  say,"  replied  Katy. 

Linda's  eyes  reddened  suddenly.  She  slammed  down  a 
lid  with  vicious  emphasis. 

"That  is  another  deal  Eileen's  engineered,"  she  said, 
"that  is  just  about  as  wrong  as  anything  possibly  can  be. 
What  makes'me  the  maddest  about  it  is  that  John  Gilman 
will  let  Eileen  take  him  by  the  nose  and  lead  him  around 
like  a  ringed  calf.  Where  is  his  common  sense  ?  Where  is 
his  perception?  Where  is  his  honour?" 

"Now  wait,  dearie,"  said  Katy  soothingly,  "wait. 
John  Gilman  is  a  mighty  fine  man.  Ye  know  how  your 
father  loved  him  and  trusted  him  and  gave  him  charge  of 
all  his  business  affairs.  Ye  mustn't  go  so  far  as  to  be  in 
sinuating  that  he  is  lacking  in  honour." 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "that  was  not  fair.  I  don't  in  the 
least  know  that  he  ever  asked  Marian  to  marry  him;  but  I 


'WHAT  KIND  OF  SHOES?"  17 

do  know  that  as  long  as  he  was  a  struggling,  threadbare 
young  lawyer  Marian  was  welcome  to  him,  and  they  had 
grand  times  together.  The  minute  he  won  the  big  Bailey 
suit  and  came  into  public  notice  and  his  practice  increased 
until  he  was  independent,  that  minute  Eileen  began  to 
take  notice,  and  it  looks  to  me  now  as  if  she  very  nearly 
had  him." 

"And  so  far  as  I  can  see,"  said  Katy,  "Miss  Marian  is 
taking  it  without  a  struggle.  She  is  not  lifting  a  finger  or 
making  a  move  to  win  him  back." 

"Of  course  she  isn't!"  said  Linda  indignantly.  "If  she 
thought  he  preferred  some  other  girl  to  her,  she  would 
merely  say:  'If  John  has  discovered  that  he  likes  Eileen 
the  better,  why,  that  is  all  right';  but  there  wouldn't  be 
anything  to  prevent  seeing  Eileen  take  John  from  hurting 
like  the  deuce.  Did  you  ever  lose  a  man  you  loved, 
Katy?" 

"That  I  did  not!"  said  Katy  emphatically.  "We 
didn't  do  any  four  or  five  years'  philanderin'  to  see  if  a 
man  'could  make  good'  when  I  was  a  youngster.  When  a 
girl  and  her  laddie  stood  up  to  each  other  and  looked  each 
other  straight  in  the  eye  and  had  the  great  understanding, 
there  weren't  no  question  of  whether  he  could  do  for  her 
what  her  father  and  mither  had  been  doing,  nor  of  how 
much  he  had  to  earn,  before  they  would  be  able  to  begin 
life  together.  They  just  caught  hands  and  hot-footed  it 
to  the  praste  and  told  him  to  read  the  banns  the  next  Sun 
day,  and  when  the  law  allowed  they  was  man  and  wife  and 
taking  what  life  had  for  them  the  way  it  came,  and  to- 


1 8  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

gether.  All  this  philanderin'  that  young  folks  do  nowa 
days  is  just  pure  nonsense,  and  waste  of  time." 

"  Sure ! "  laughed  Linda.  "  When  my  brave  comes  along 
with  his  blanket  I'll  just  step  under,  and  then  if  anybody 
tries  to  take  my  man  I'll  have  the  right  to  go  on  the  war 
path  and  have  a  scalping  party  that  would  be  some  satis 
faction  to  the  soul." 

Then  they  served  the  dinner,  and  when  the  guests  had 
left  the  dining  room,  Katy  closed  the  doors,  and  brought  on 
the  delicacies  she  had  hidden  for  Linda  and  patted  and 
cajoled  her  while  she  ate  like  any  healthy,  hungry  young 
creature. 


CHAPTER  II 
COTYLEDON  OF  MULTIFLORES  CANYON 

M  VE,  atque  vale  ! '     Cotyledon ! " 

/  •  Linda  slid  down  the  side  of  the  canyon  with  the 
^/  I  deftness  of  the  expert.  At  the  first  available 
crevice  she  thrust  in  her  Alpine  stick,  and  bracing  herself, 
gained  a  footing.  Then  she  turned  and  by  use  of  her 
fingers  and  toes  worked  her  way  back  to  the  plant  she  had 
passed.  She  was  familiar  with  many  members  of  the 
family,  but  such  a  fine  specimen  she  seldom  had  found  and 
she  could  not  recall  having  seen  it  in  all  of  her  botanies. 
Opposite  the  plant  she  worked  out  a  footing,  drove  her 
stick  deep  at  the  base  of  a  rock  to  brace  herself,  and  from 
the  knapsack  on  her  back  took  a  sketch-book  and  pencil 
and  began  rapidly  copying  the  thick  fleshy  leaves  of  the 
flattened  rosette,  sitting  securely  at  the  edge  of  a  rock. 
She  worked  swiftly  and  with  breathless  interest.  When 
she  had  finished  the  flower  she  began  sketching  in  the  moss- 
covered  face  of  the  boulder  against  which  it  grew,  and 
other  bits  of  vegetation  near. 

"I  think,  Coty,"  she  said,  "it  is  very  probable  that  I  can 
corner  a  few  simoleons  with  you.  You  are  becoming, 
better  looking  every  minute." 

For  a  touch  of  colour  she  margined  one  side  of  her  draw- 

19 


20      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ing  with  a  little  spray  of  Pentstemon  whose  bright  tubular 
flowers  the  canyon  knew  as  "humming-bird's  dinner  horn." 
That  gave  her  the  idea  of  introducing  a  touch  of  living  in 
terest,  so  bearing  down  upon  the  flowers  from  the  upper 
right-hand  corner  of  her  drawing  she  deftly  sketched  in  a 
ruby-throated  humming  bird,  and  across  the  bottom  of 
the  sheet  the  lace  of  a  few  leaves  of  fern.  Then  she 
returned  the  drawing  and  pencil  to  her  knapsack,  and 
making  sure  of  her  footing,  worked  her  way  forward. 
With  her  long  slender  fingers  she  began  teasing  the  plant 
loose  from  the  rock  and  the  surrounding  soil.  The  roots 
penetrated  deeper  than  she  had  supposed  and  in  her  in 
terest  she  forgot  her  precarious  footing  and  pulled  hard. 
The  plant  gave  way  unexpectedly,  and  losing  her  balance, 
Linda  plunged  down  the  side  of  the  canyon,  catching  wildly 
at  shrubs  and  bushes  and  bruising  herself  severely  on 
stones,  finally  landing  in  a  sitting  posture  on  the  road  that 
traversed  the  canyon. 

She  was  not  seriously  hurt,  but  she  did  not  present  a 
picturesque  figure  as  she  sprawled  in  the  road,  her  booted 
feet  thrust  straight  before  her,  one  of  her  long  black 
braids  caught  on  a  bush  at  her  back,  her  blouse  pulled 
above  her  breeches,  the  contents  of  her  knapsack  deco 
rating  the  canyon  side  and  the  road  around  her;  but 
high  in  one  hand,  without  break  or  blemish,  she  trium 
phantly  held  aloft  the  rare  Cotyledon.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  wiggled  her  toes,  and  moved  her  arms  to  assure 
herself  that  no  bones  were  broken;  then  she  glanced  at  her 
drawings  and  the  fruits  of  her  day's  collecting  scattered 


COTYLEDON  21 

on  the  roadside  around  her.  She  was  in  the  act  of  ris 
ing  when  a  motor  car  containing  two  young  men  shot 
around  a  curve  of  the  canyon,  swerved  to  avoid  running 
over  her,  and  stopped  as  abruptly  as  possible. 

"It's  a  girl!"  cried  the  driver,  and  both  men  sprang  to 
the  road  and  hurried  to  Linda's  assistance.  Her  dark 
cheeks  were  red  with  mortification,  but  she  managed  to 
recover  her  feet  and  tuck  in  her  blouse  before  they  reached 
her. 

"We  heard  you  coming  down,"  said  the  elder  of  the 
young  men,  "and  we  thought  you  might  be  a  bear.  Are 
you  sure  you're  not  hurt?" 

Linda  stood  before  them,  a  lithe  slender  figure,  vivid 
with  youth  and  vitality. 

"I  am  able  to  stand,"  she  said,  "so  of  course  I  haven't 
broken  any  bones.  I  think  I  am  fairly  well  battered,  but 
you  will  please  to  observe  that  there  isn't  a  scratch  on 
Cotyledon,  and  I  brought  her  down — at  least  I  think  it's 
she — from  the  edge  of  that  boulder  away  up  there.  Isn't 
she  a  beauty?  Only  notice  the  delicate  frosty  'bloom5  on 
her  leaves!" 

"I  should  prefer,"  said  the  younger  of  the  men,  "to 
know  whether  you  have  any  broken  bones." 

"I'm  sure  I  am  all  right,"  answered  Linda.  "I  have 
falling  down  mountains  reduced  to  an  exact  science.  I'll 
bet  you  couldn't  slide  that  far  and  bring  down  Coty  with 
out  a  scratch." 

"Well,  which  is  the  more  precious,"  said  the  young  man. 
"Yourself  or  the  specimen?" 


22      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Why,  the  specimen!"  answered  Linda,  in  impatience. 
*' California  is  full  of  girls;  but  this  is  the  finest  Cotyle- 
'don  of  this  family  I  have  ever  seen.  Don't  mistake  this 
for  any  common  stonecrop.  It  looks  to  me  like  an  Eche- 
veria.  I  know  what  I  mean  to  do  with  the  picture  I  have 
made  of  her,  and  I  know  exactly  where  she  is  going  to 
grow  from  this  day  on." 

"Is  there  any  way  we  can  help  you?"  inquired  the  elder 
of  the  two  men. 

For  the  first  time  Linda  glanced  at  him,  and  her  im 
pression  was  that  he  was  decidedly  attractive. 

"No,  thank  you!"  she  answered  briskly.  "I  am  going 
to  climb  back  up  to  the  boulder  and  collect  the  belong 
ings  I  spilled  on  the  way  down.  Then  I  am  going  to  carry 
Coty  to  the  car  line  in  a  kind  of  triumphal  march,  because 
she  is  the  rarest  find  that  I  have  ever  made.  I  hope  you 
have  no  dark  designs  on  Coty,  because  this  is  'what  the 
owner  had  to  do  to  redeem  her." 

Linda  indicated  her  trail  down  the  canyon  side,  brushed 
soil  and  twigs  from  her  trousers,  turned  her  straight 
young  back,  carefully  set  down  her  specimen,  and  by  the 
aid  of  her  recovered  stick  began  expertly  making  her  way 
up  the  canyon  side. 

"Here,  let  me  do  that,"  offered  the  younger  man. 
"You  rest  until  I  collect  your  belongings." 

Linda  glanced  back  over  her  shoulder. 

"Thanks,"  she  said.  "I  have  a  mental  inventory  of  all 
the  pencils  and  knives  and  trowels  I  must  find.  You  might 
overlook  the  most  important  part  of  my  paraphernalia; 


COTYLEDON  23 

and  really  I  am  not  damaged.  I'm  merely  hurt.  Good 
bye!" 

Linda  started  back  up  the  side  of  the  canyon,  leaving 
the  young  men  to  enter  their  car  and  drive  away.  For  a 
minute  both  of  them  stood  watching  her. 

"What  will  girls  be  wearing  and  doing  next?"  asked  the 
elder  of  the  two  as  he  started  his  car. 

"What  would  you  have  a  girl  wear  when  she  is  occupied 
with  coasting  down  canyons?"  said  his  friend.  "And  as 
for  what  she  is  doing,  it's  probable  that  every  high-school 
girl  in  Los  Angeles  has  a  botanical  collection  to  make  be 
fore  she  graduates." 

"I  see!"  said  the  man  driving.  "She  is  only  a  high- 
school  kid,  but  did  you  notice  that  she  is  going  to  make 
an  extremely  attractive  young  woman?" 

"Yes,  I  noticed  just  that;  I  noticed  it  very  particularly," 
answered  the  younger  man.  "And  I  noticed  also  that  she 
either  doesn't  know  it,  or  doesn't  give  a  flip." 

Linda  collected  her  belongings,  straightened  her  hair  and 
clothing,  and,  with  her  knapsack  in  place,  and  leaning 
rather  heavily  on  her  walking  stick,  made  her  way  down  the 
road  to  the  abutment  of  a  small  rustic  bridge  where  she 
stopped  to  rest.  The  stream  at  her  feet  was  noisy  and  icy 
cold.  It  rushed  through  narrow  defiles  in  the  rock,  beat 
itself  to  foam  against  the  faces  of  the  big  stones,  fell  over 
jutting  cliffs,  spread  in  whispering  pools,  wound  back  and 
forth  across  the  road  at  its  will,  singing  every  foot  of  its 
downward  way  and  watering  beds  of  crisp,  cool  miners' 
lettuce,  great  ferns,  and  heliotrope,  climbing  clematis,  and 


24      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

blue-eyed  grass.  All  along  its  length  grew  willows,  and 
in  a  few  places  white-bodied  sycamores.  Everywhere  over 
the  walls  above  it  that  vegetation  could  find  a  footing 
grew  mosses,  vines,  flowers,  and  shrubs.  On  the  shadiest 
side  homed  most  of  the  ferns  and  the  Cotyledon.  In  the 
sun,  larkspur,  lupin,  and  monkey  flower;  everywhere  wild 
rose,  holly,  mahogany,  gooseberry,  and  bayoneted  yucca 
all  intermingling  in  a  curtain  of  variegated  greens,  brocaded 
with  flower  arabesques  of  vivid  red,  white,  yellow,  and 
blue.  Canyon  wrens  and  vireos  sang  as  they  nested. 
The  air  was  clear,  cool,  and  salty  from  the  near-by  sea. 
Myriad  leaf  shadows  danced  on  the  black  roadbed,  level 
as  a  barn  floor,  and  across  it  trailed  the  wavering  image  of 
hawk  and  vulture,  gull  and  white  sea  swallow.  Linda 
studied  the  canyon  with  intent  eyes,  but  bruised  flesh 
pleaded,  so  reluctantly  she  arose,  shouldered  her  belong 
ings,  and  slowly  followed  the  road  out  to  the  car  line  that 
passed  through  Lilac  Valley,  still  carefully  bearing  in 
triumph  the  precious  Cotyledon.  An  hour  later  she  en 
tered  the  driveway  of  her  home.  She  stopped  to  set  her 
plant  carefully  in  the  wild  garden  she  and  her  father  had 
worked  all  her  life  at  collecting,  then  followed  the  back 
porch  and  kitchen  route. 

"Whatever  have  ye  been  doing  to  yourself,  honey?" 
cried  Katy. 

"I  came  a  cropper  down  Multiflores  Canyon  where  it  is 
so  steep  that  it  leans  the  other  way.  I  pretty  well  pulver 
ized  myself  for  a  pulverulenta,  Katy,  which  is  a  poor  joke." 

"Now  ain't  that  just  my  luck!"  wailed  Katy,  snatching 


COTYLEDON  25 

a  cake  cutter  and  beginning  hurriedly  to  stamp  out  little 
cakes  from  the  dough  before  her. 

"Well,  I  don't  understand  in  exactly  what  way,"  said 
Linda,  absently  rubbing  her  elbows  and  her  knees. 
"Seems  to  me  it's  my  promontories  that  have  been  knocked 
off,  not  yours,  Katy." 

"Yes,  and  ain't  it  just  like  ye,"  said  Katy,  "to  be  com 
ing  in  late,  and  all  banged  up  when  Miss  Eileen  has  got 
sudden  notice  that  there  is  going  to  be  company  again  and 
I  have  an  especial  dinner  to  serve,  and  never  in  the  world 
can  I  manage  if  ye  don't  help  me!" 

"Why,  who  is  coming  now?"  asked  Linda,  seating  her 
self  on  the  nearest  chair  and  beginning  to  unfasten  her 
boots  slowly. 

"Well,  first  of  all,  there  is  Mr.  Oilman,  of  course." 
"Of  course,'"  conceded  Linda.     "If  he  tried  to  get 
past  our  house,  Eileen  is  perfectly  capable  of  setting  it  on 
fire  to  stop  him.     She's  got  him  'vamped'  properly." 

"Oh  I  don't  know  that  ye  should  say  just  that,"  said 
Katy.  "Eileen  is  a  mighty  pretty  girl,  and  she  is  some 
manager." 

"You  can  stake  your  hilarious  life  she  is,"  said  Linda, 
viciously  kicking  a  boot  to  the  centre  of  the  kitchen. 
"She  can  manage  to  go  down  town  for  lunch  and  be  invited 
out  to  dinner  thirteen  times  a  week,  and  leave  us  at  home 
to  eat  bread  and  milk,  bread  heavily  stressed.  She  can 
manage  to  get  every  cent  of  the  income  from  the  prop 
erty  in  her  fingers,  and  a  great  big  girl  like  me  has  to  go  to 
high  school  looking  so  tacky  that  even  the  boys  are  begin- 


26      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ning  to  comment  on  it.  Manage?  I'll  say  she  can  man 
age,  not  to  mention  managing  to  snake  John  Oilman  right 
out  of  Marian's  fingers.  I  doubt  if  Marian  fully  realizes 
yet  that  she's  lost  her  man;  and  I  happen  to  know  that  she 
just  plain  loved  John!" 

The  second  boot  landed  beside  the  first,  then  Linda 
picked  them  both  up  and  started  toward  the  back  hall. 

"Honey,  are  ye  too  bad  hurt  to  help  me  any?"  asked 
Katy,  as  she  passed  her. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Linda.  "Give  me  a  few  minutes 
to  take  a  bath  and  step  into  my  clothes  and  then  I'll  be  on 
the  job." 

With  a  black  scowl  on  her  face,  Linda  climbed  the  dingy 
back  stairway  in  her  stocking-feet.  At  the  head  of  the 
stairs  she  paused  one  minute,  glanced  at  the  gloom  of  her 
end  of  the  house,  then  she  turned  and  walked  to  the  front 
of  the  hall  where  there  were  potted  ferns,  dainty  white 
curtains,  and  bright  rugs.  The  door  of  the  guest  room 
stood  open  and  she  could  see  that  it  was  filled  with  fresh 
flowers  and  ready  for  occupancy.  The  door  of  her  sister's 
room  was  slightly  ajar  and  she  pushed  it  open  and  stood 
looking  inside.  In  her  state  of  disarray  she  made  a  shock 
ing  contrast  to  the  flower-like  figure  busy  before  a  dressing 
table.  Linda  was  dark,  narrow,  rawboned,  overgrown  in 
height,  and  forthright  of  disposition.  Eileen  was  a  tiny 
woman,  delicately  moulded,  exquisitely  coloured,  and  one  of 
the  most  perfectly  successful  tendrils  from  the  original  cling 
ing  vine  in  her  intercourse  with  men,  and  with  such  women 
as  would  tolerate  the  clinging-vine  idea  in  the  present  forth- 


COTYLEDON  27 

right  days.  With  a  strand  of  softly  curled  hair  in  one 
hand  and  a  fancy  pin  in  the  other,  Eileen  turned  a  disap 
proving  look  upon  her  sister. 

"What's  the  great  idea?"  demanded  Linda  shortly. 

"Oh,  it's  perfectly  splendid,"  answered  Eileen.  "John 
Oilman's  best  friend  is  motoring  around  here  looking 
for  a  location  to  build  a  home.  He  is  an  author  and 
young  and  good  looking  and  not  married,  and  he  thinks 
he  would  like  to  settle  somewhere  near  Los  Angeles.  Of 
course  John  would  love  to  have  him  in  Lilac  Valley  be 
cause  he  hopes  to  build  a  home  here  some  day  for  himself. 
His  name  is  Peter  Morrison  and  John  says  that  his  articles 
and  stories  have  horse  sense,  logic,  and  humour,  and  he  is 
making  a  lot  of  money." 

"Then  God  help  John  Oilman,  if  he  thinks  now  that  he 
is  in  love  with  you"  said  Linda  dryly. 

Eileen  arched  her  eyebrows,  thinned  to  a  hair  line,  and 
her  lips  drew  together  in  disapproval. 

"What  I  can't  understand,"  she  said,  "is  how  you  can 
be  so  unspeakably  vulgar,  Linda." 

Linda  laughed  sharply. 

"And  this  Peter  Morrison  and  John  are  our  guests  for 
dinner?" 

"Yes,"  said  Eileen.  "I  am  going  to  show  them  this 
valley  inside  and  out.  I'm  so  glad  it's  spring.  We're  at 
our  very  best.  It  would  be  perfectly  wonderful  to  have 
an  author  for  a  neighbour,  and  he  must  be  going  to  build 
a  real  house,  because  he  has  his  architect  with  him;  and 
John  says  that  while  he  is  young,  he  has  done  several  aw- 


28      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

fully  good  houses.  He  has  seen  a  couple  of  them  in  San 
Francisco." 

Linda  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Up  the  flue  goes  Marian's  chance  of  drawing  the  plans 
for  John  Oilman's  house,"  she  said.  "I  have  heard  him 
say  a  dozen  times  he  would  not  build  a  house  unless  Marian 
made  the  plans." 

Eileen  deftly  placed  the  strand  of  hair  and  set  the  jew 
elled  pin  with  precision. 

"Just  possibly  things  have  changed  slightly,"  she  sug 
gested. 

"Yes,"  said  Linda,  "I  observe  that  they  have.  Marian 
has  sold  the  home  she  adored.  She  is  leaving  friends  she 
loved  and  trusted,  and  who  were  particularly  bound  to  her 
by  a  common  grief,  without  realizing  exactly  how  it  is  hap 
pening.  She  certainly  must  know  that  you  have  taken 
her  lover,  and  I  have  not  a  doubt  but  that  is  the  reason  she 
has  discovered  she  can  no  longer  work  at  home,  that  she 
must  sell  her  property  and  spend  the  money  cooped  up 
in  a  city,  to  study  her  profession  further." 

"Linda,"  said  Eileen,  her  face  pale  with  anger,  "you  are 
positively  insufferable.  Will  you  leave  my  room  and  close 
the  door  after  you?" 

"Well,  Katy  has  just  informed  me,"  said  Linda,  "that 
this  dinner  party  doesn't  come  off  without  my  valued  assis 
tance,  and  before  I  agree  to  assist,  I'll  know  one  thing. 
Are  you  proposing  to  entertain  these  three  men  yourself, 
or  have  you  asked  Marian?" 

Eileen  indicated  an  open  note  lying  on  her  dressing  table, 


COTYLEDON  29 

"I  did  not  know  they  were  coming  until  an  hour  ago," 
she  said.  "/  barely  had  time  to  fill  the  vases  and  dust, 
and  then  I  ran  up  to  dress  so  that  there  would  be  someone 
presentable  when  they  arrive." 

"All  right  then,  we'll  agree  that  this  is  a  surprise  party, 
but  if  John  Gilman  has  told  you  so  much  about  them,  you 
must  have  been  expecting  them,  and  in  a  measure  pre 
pared  for  them  at  any  time.  Haven't  you  talked  it  over 
with  Marian,  and  told  her  that  you  would  want  her  when 
they  came?" 

Eileen  was  extremely  busy  with  another  wave  of  hair. 
She  turned  her  back  and  her  voice  was  not  quite  steady  as 
she  answered.  "Ever  since  Marian  got  this  'going  to  the 
city  to  study'  idea  in  her  head  I  have  scarcely  seen  her. 
She  had  an  awful  job  to  empty  the  house,  and  pack  such 
things  as  she  wants  to  keep,  and  she  is  working  over 
time  on  a  very  special  plan  that  she  thinks  maybe  she'll 
submit  in  a  prize  competition  offered  by  a  big  firm  of  San 
Francisco  architects,  so  I  have  scarcely  seen  her  for  six 
weeks." 

"And  you  never  once  went  over  to  help  her  with  her 
work,  or  to  encourage  her  or  to  comfort  her?  You  can't 
think  Marian  can  leave  this  valley  and  not  be  almost  heart 
broken,"  said  Linda.  "You  just  make  me  almost  wonder 
at  you.  When  you  think  of  the  kind  of  friends  that 
Marian  Thome's  father  and  mother,  and  our  father  and 
mother  were,  and  how  we  children  were  reared  together, 
and  the  good  times  we  have  had  in  these  two  houses — and 
then  the  awful  day  when  the  car  went  over  the  cliff,  and 


30      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

how  Marian  clung  to  us  and  tried  to  comfort  us,  when  her 
own  heart  was  broken — and  Marian's  the  same  Marian 
she  has  always  been,  only  nicer  every  day — how  you  can 
sit  there  and  say  you  have  scarcely  seen  her  in  six  of  the 
hardest  weeks  of  her  life,  certainly  surprises  me.  I'll  tell 
you  this :  I  told  Katy  I  would  help  her,  but  I  won't  do  it 
if  you  don't  go  over  and  make  Marian  come  to-night." 

Eileen  turned  to  her  sister  and  looked  at  her  keenly. 
Linda's  brow  was  sullen,  and  her  jaw  set. 

"A  bed  would  look  mighty  good  to  me  and  I  will  go  and 
get  into  mine  this  minute  if  you  don't  say  you  will  go  and 
ask  her,  in  such  a  way  that  she  comes,"  she  threatened. 

Eileen  hesitated  a  second  and  then  said:  "All  right, 
since  you  make  such  a  point  of  it  I  will  ask  her." 

"Very  well,"  said  Linda.  "Then  I'll  help  Katy  the 
very  best  I  can." 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS 

IN  LESS  than  an  hour,  Linda  was  in  the  kitchen,  dressed 
in  an  old  green  skirt  and  an  orange  blouse.  Katy 
pinned  one  of  her  aprons  on  the  girl  and  told  her  that 
her  first  job  was  to  set  the  table. 

"And  Miss  Eileen  has  given  most  particular  orders  that 
I  use  the  very  best  of  everything.  Lay  the  table  for  four, 
and  you  are  to  be  extremely  careful  in  serving  not  to  spill 
the  soup." 

Linda  stood  very  quietly  for  a  second,  her  heavy  black 
brows  drawn  together  in  deep  thought. 

"When  did  Eileen  issue  these  instructions ?"  she  in 
quired. 

"Not  five  minutes  ago,"  said  Katy.  "She  just  left 
me  kitchen  and  I'll  say  I  never  saw  her  lookin'  such  a  par- 
feet  picture.  That  new  dress  of  hers  is  the  most  becoming 
one  she  has  ever  had." 

Almost  unconsciously,  Linda's  hand  reached  to  the  front 
of  her  well-worn  blouse,  and  she  glanced  downward  at  her 
skirt  and  shoes. 

"Um-hm,"  she  said  meditatively,  "another  new  dress 
for  Eileen,  which  means  that  I  will  get  nothing  until  next 
month's  allowance  comes  in,  if  I  do  then.  The  table  set 

31 


32      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

for  four,  which,  interpreted,  signifies  that  she  has  asked 
Marian  in  such  a  way  that  Marian  won't  come.  And  the 
caution  as  to  care  with  the  soup  means  that  I  am  to  serve 
my  father's  table  like  a  paid  waitress.  Katy,  I  have  run 
for  over  three  years  on  Eileen's  schedule,  but  this  past 
year  I  am  beginning  to  use  my  brains  and  I  am  reaching  the 
place  of  self-assertion.  That  programme  won't  do,  Katy. 
It's  got  to  be  completely  revised.  You  just  watch  me  and 
see  how  I  follow  those  instructions." 

Then  Linda  marched  out  of  the  kitchen  door  and  started 
across  the  lawn  in  the  direction  of  a  big  brown  house  dimly 
outlined  through  widely  spreading  branches  of  ancient  live 
oaks,  palm,  and  bamboo  thickets.  She  entered  the  house 
without  knocking  and  in  the  hall  uttered  a  low  penetrating 
whistle.  It  was  instantly  answered  from  upstairs.  Linda 
began  climbing,  and  met  Marian  at  the  top. 

"Why,  Marian,"  she  cried,  "I  had  no  idea  you  were  so 
far  along.  The  house  is  actually  empty." 

"Practically  everything  went  yesterday,"  answered 
Marian.  "Those  things  of  Father's  and  Mother's  and  my 
own  that  I  wish  to  keep  I  have  put  in  storage,  and  the 
remainder  went  to  James's  Auction  Rooms.  The  house  is 
sold,  and  I  am  leaving  in  the  morning." 

"Then  that  explains,"  questioned  Linda,  "why  you 
refused  Eileen's  invitation  to  dinner  to-night?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  answered  Marian,  "an  invitation  to 
dinner  to-night  would  be  particularly  and  peculiarly 
acceptable  to  me,  since  the  kitchen  is  barren  as  the  re 
mainder  of  the  house,  and  I  was  intending  to  slip  over 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  33 

when  your  room  was  lighted  to  ask  if  I  might  spend  the 
night  with  you." 

Linda  suddenly  gathered  her  friend  in  her  arms  and 
held  her  tight. 

"Well,  thank  heaven  that  you  felt  sufficiently  sure  of  me 
to  come  to  me  when  you  needed  me.  Of  course  you  shall 
spend  the  night  with  me;  and  I  must  have  been  mistaken 
in  thinking  Eileen  had  been  here.  She  probably  will 
come  any  minute.  There  are  guests  for  the  night.  John 
is  bringing  that  writer  friend  of  his.  Of  course  you  know 
about  him.  It's  Peter  Morrison." 

Marian  nodded  her  head.  "Of  course!  John  has 
always  talked  of  him.  He  had  some  extremely  clever 
articles  in  The  Post  lately." 

"Well,  he  is  one,"  said  Linda,  "and  an  architect  who 
is  touring  with  him  is  two;  they  are  looking  for  a  lo 
cation  to  build  a  house  for  the  writer.  You  can  see  that 
it  would  be  a  particularly  attractive  feather  in  our  cap  if 
he  would  endorse  our  valley  sufficiently  to  home  in  it.  So 
Eileen  has  invited  them  to  sample  our  brand  of  entertain 
ment,  and  in  the  morning  no  doubt  she  will  be  delighted  to 
accompany  them  and  show  them  all  the  beautiful  spots 
not  yet  preempted." 

"Oh,  heavens,"  cried  Marian,  "I'm  glad  I  never  showed 
her  my  spot!" 

"Well,  if  you  are  particular  about  wanting  a  certain 
place  I  sincerely  hope  you  did  not,"  said  Linda. 

"I  am  sure  I  never  did,"  answered  Marian.  "I  so  love 
one  spot  that  I  have  been  most  secretive  about  it.  I  am 


34      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

certain  I  never  went  further  than  to  say  there  was  a  place 
on  which  I  would  love  to  build  for  myself  the  house  of  my 
dreams.  I  have  just  about  finished  getting  that  home  on 
paper,  and  I  truly  have  high  hopes  that  I  may  stand  at 
least  a  fair  chance  of  winning  with  it  the  prize  Nicholson 
and  Snow  are  offering.  That  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I 
am  hurrying  on  my  way  to  San  Francisco  much  sooner 
than  I  had  expected  to  go.  I  haven't  a  suitable  dinner 
dress  because  my  trunks  have  gone,  but  among  such  old 
friends  it  won't  matter.  I  have  one  fussy  blouse  in  my 
bag,  and  I'll  be  over  as  soon  as  I  can  see  to  closing  up  the 
house  and  dressing." 

Linda  hurried  home,  and  going  to  the  dining  room,  she 
laid  the  table  for  six  in  a  deft  and  artistic  manner.  She 
filled  a  basket  with  beautiful  flowers  of  her  own  growing  for 
a  centrepiece,  and  carefully  followed  Eileen's  instruction 
to  use  the  best  of  everything.  When  she  had  finished 
she  went  to  the  kitchen. 

"Katy,"  she  said,  "take  a  look  at  my  handiwork." 

"It's  just  lovely,"  said  Katy  heartily. 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  answered  Linda,  "and  now  in 
pursuance  of  a  recently  arrived  at  decision,  I  have  resigned, 
vamoosed,  quit,  dead  stopped  being  waitress  for  Eileen. 
I  was  seventeen  my  last  birthday.  Hereafter  when  there 
are  guests  I  sit  at  my  father's  table,  and  you  will  have  to 
do  the  best  you  can  with  serving,  Katy." 

"And  it's  just  exactly  right  ye  are,"  said  Katy.  "I'll  do 
my  best,  and  if  that's  not  good  enough,  Miss  Eileen  knows 
what  she  can  do." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  35 

"Now  listen  to  you,"  laughed  Linda.  "Katy,  you 
couldn't  be  driven  to  leave  me,  by  anything  on  this  earth 
that  Eileen  could  do;  you  know  you  couldn't." 

Katy  chuckled  quietly.  "Sure,  I  wouldn't  be  leaving 
ye,  lambie,"  she  said.  "We'll  get  everything  ready,  and 
I  can  serve  six  as  nicely  as  any  one.  But  you're  not  for 
getting  that  Miss  Eileen  said  most  explicit  to  lay  the  table 
for  four?" 

"I  am  not  forgetting,"  said  Linda.  "For  Eileen's  sake 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  her  ship  is  on  the  shoals.  She  is  not 
going  to  have  clear  sailing  with  little  sister  Linda  any 
longer.  This  is  the  year  of  woman's  rights,  you  know, 
Katy,  and  I  am  beginning  to  realize  that  my  rights  have 
been  badly  infringed  upon  for  lo  these  many  years.  If 
Eileen  chooses  to  make  a  scene  before  guests,  that  is 
strictly  up  to  Eileen.  Now  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do  ? " 

Katy  directed  and  Linda  worked  swiftly.  Soon  they 
heard  a  motor  stop,  and  laughing  voices  told  them  that 
the  guests  had  arrived. 

"Now  I  wonder,"  said  Linda,  "whether  Marian  is  here 
yet." 

At  that  minute  Marian  appeared  at  the  kitchen  door. 

"Linda,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "I  am  feeling  queer 
about  this.  Eileen  hasn't  been  over." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Linda  casually.  "The  folks 
have  come,  and  she  was  only  waiting  to  make  them  a  bit 
at  home  before  she  ran  after  you." 

Marian  hesitated. 

"She  was  not  allowing  me  much  time  to  dress." 


36      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"That's  'cause  she  knew  you  did  not  need  it,"  retorted 
Linda.  "The  more  you  fuss  up,  the  less  handsome  you 
are,  and  you  never  owned  anything  in  your  life  so  becom 
ing  as  that  old  red  blouse.  So  farewell,  Katy,  we're  due 
to  burst  into  high  society  to-night.  We're  going  to  help 
Eileen  vamp  a  lawyer,  and  an  author,  and  an  architect, 
one  apiece.  Which  do  you  prefer,  Marian  ? " 

"I'll  take  the  architect,"  said  Marian.  "We  should 
have  something  in  common  since  I  am  going  to  be  a  great 
architect  myself  one  of  these  days." 

"Why,  that  is  too  bad,"  said  Linda.  "I'll  have  to 
rearrange  the  table  if  you  insist,  because  I  took  him,  and 
left  you  the  author,  and  it  was  for  love  of  you  I  did  it.  I 
truly  wanted  him  myself,  all  the  time." 

They  stopped  in  the  dining  room  and  Marian  praised 
Linda's  work  in  laying  the  table;  and  then,  together  they 
entered  the  living  room. 

At  the  moment  of  their  entrance,  Eileen  was  talking 
animatedly  about  the  beauties  of  the  valley  as  a  location 
for  a  happy  home.  When  she  saw  the  two  girls  she 
paused,  the  colour  swiftly  faded  from  her  face,  and  Linda, 
who  was  watching  to  see  what  would  happen,  noticed  the 
effort  she  made  at  self-control,  but  she  was  very  sure  that 
their  guests  did  not. 

It  never  occurred  to  Linda  that  any  one  would  consider 
good  looks  in  connection  with  her  overgrown,  rawboned 
frame  and  lean  face,  but  she  was  accustomed  to  seeing  peo 
ple  admire  Marian,  for  Marian  was  a  perfectly  modelled 
woman  with  peach-bloom  cheeks,  deep,  dark  eyes,  her  face 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  37 

framed  in  a  waving  mass  of  hair  whose  whiteness  dated 
from  the  day  that  the  brakes  of  her  car  failed  and  she 
plunged  down  the  mountain  with  her  father  beside  her,  and 
her  mother  and  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Strong  in  the  back  seat. 
Ten  days  afterward  Marian's  head  of  beautiful  dark  hair 
was  muslin  white.  Now  it  framed  a  face  of  youth  and 
beauty  with  peculiar  pathos.  "Striking"  was  perhaps  the 
one  adjective  which  would  best  describe  her. 

John  Gilman  came  hastily  to  greet  them.  Linda,  after 
a  swift  glance  at  Eileen,  turned  astonished  eyes  on  their 
guests.  For  one  second  she  looked  at  the  elder  of  them, 
then  at  the  younger.  There  was  no  recognition  in  her 
eyes,  and  there  was  a  decided  negative  in  a  swift  move 
ment  of  her  head.  Both  men  understood  that  she  did  not 
wish  them  to  mention  that  they  ever  had  seen  her  previ 
ously.  For  an  instant  there  was  a  strained  situation. 
Eileen  was  white  with  anger.  John  Gilman  was  looking 
straight  at  Marian,  and  in  his  soul  he  must  have  wondered 
if  he  had  been  wise  in  neglecting  her  for  Eileen.  Peter 
Morrison  and  his  architect,  Henry  Anderson,  had  two 
things  to  think  about.  One  was  the  stunning  beauty  of 
Marian  Thorne  as  she  paused  in  the  doorway,  the  light 
misting  her  white  hair  and  deepening  the  tints  of  her  red 
waist.  The  other  was  why  the  young  girl  facing  them  had 
forbidden  them  to  reveal  that  two  hours  before  they  had 
seen  her  in  the  canyon.  Katy,  the  efficient  life-saver 
of  the  Strong  family,  announced  dinner,  and  Linda  drew 
back  the  curtains  and  led  the  way  to  the  dining  room,  say 
ing  when  they  had  arrived:  "I  didn't  have  time  in  my 


38      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

hour's  notice  to  make  elaborate  place  cards  as  I  should 
have  liked  to  do,  so  these  little  pen  sketches  will  have  to 


serve." 


To  cover  his  embarrassment  and  to  satisfy  his  legal  mind, 
John  Gilman  turned  to  Linda,  asking:  "Why  'an  hour'? 
I  told  Eileen  a  week  ago  I  was  expecting  the  boys  to-day." 

"But  that  does  not  prove  that  Eileen  mentioned  it  to 
me,"  answered  Linda  quietly;  "so  you  must  find  your 
places  from  the  cards  I  could  prepare  in  a  hurry." 

This  same  preparation  of  cards  at  the  round  table 
placed  Eileen  between  the  architect  and  the  author, 
Marian  between  the  author  and  John  Gilman,  and  Linda 
between  Gilman  and  the  architect,  which  added  one  more 
tiny  gale  to  the  storm  of  fury  that  was  raging  in  the  breast 
of  white-faced  Eileen.  The  situation  was  so  strained  that 
without  fully  understanding  it,  Marian,  who  was  several 
years  older  than  either  of  the  Strong  sisters,  knew  that 
although  she  was  tired  to  the  point  of  exhaustion  she 
should  muster  what  reserve  force  she  could  to  the  end  of 
making  the  dinner  party  particularly  attractive,  because 
she  was  deeply  interested  in  drawing  to  the  valley  every 
suitable  home  seeker  it  was  possible  to  locate  there.  It 
was  the  unwritten  law  of  the  valley  that  whenever  a  home 
seeker  passed  through,  every  soul  who  belonged  exerted 
the  strongest  influence  to  prove  that  the  stars  hung  lower 
and  shone  bigger  and  in  bluer  heavens  than  anywhere 
else  on  earth;  that  nowhere  could  be  found  air  to  equal  the 
energizing  salt  breezes  from  the  sea,  snow  chilled,  per 
fumed  with  almond  and  orange;  that  the  sun  shone 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  39 

brighter  more  days  in  the  year,  and  the  soil  produced  a 
greater  variety  of  vegetables  and  fruits  than  any  other 
spot  of  the  same  size  on  God's  wonderful  footstool.  This 
could  be  done  with  unanimity  and  enthusiasm  by  every 
resident  of  Lilac  Valley  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  it 
was  the  truth.  The  valley  stood  with  its  steep  sides  raying 
blue  from  myriad  wild  lilacs;  olives  and  oranges  sloped 
down  to  the  flat  floor,  where  cultivated  ranches  and  gar 
dens  were  so  screened  by  eucalyptus  and  pepper  trees, 
palm  and  live  oak,  myriads  of  roses  of  every  colour  and 
variety,  and  gaudy  plants  gathered  there  from  the  entire 
girth  of  the  tropical  world,  that  to  the  traveller  on  the 
highway  trees  and  flowers  predominated.  The  great 
est  treasure  of  the  valley  was  the  enthusiastic  stream  of 
icy  mountain  water  that  wandered  through  the  near-by 
canyon  and  followed  the  length  of  the  valley  on  its  singing, 
chuckling  way  to  the  ocean.  All  the  residents  of  Lilac 
Valley  had  to  do  to  entrance  strangers  with  the  location 
was  to  show  any  one  of  a  dozen  vantage  points,  and  let 
visitors  test  for  themselves  the  quality  of  the  sunshine  and 
air,  and  study  the  picture  made  by  the  broad  stretch  of 
intensively  cultivated  valley,  walled  on  either  side  by 
mountains  whose  highest  peaks  were  often  cloud-draped 
and  for  ever  shifting  their  delicate  pastel  shades  from  gray 
to  blue,  from  lavender  to  purple,  from  tawny  yellow  to 
sepia,  under  the  play  of  the  sun  and  clouds. 

They  had  not  been  seated  three  minutes  before  Linda 
realized  from  her  knowledge  of  Eileen  that  the  shock  had 
been  too  great,  if  such  a  thing  might  be  said  of  so  resource- 


40      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ful  a  creature  as  Eileen.  Evidently  she  was  going  to  sulk 
in  the  hope  that  this  would  prove  that  any  party  was  a 
failure  at  which  she  did  not  exert  herself  to  be  gracious. 
It  had  not  been  in  Linda's  heart  to  do  more  than  sit 
quietly  in  the  place  belonging  by  right  to  her,  but  when  she 
realized  what  was  going  to  happen,  she  sent  Marian  one 
swift  appealing  glance,  and  then  desperately  plunged  into 
conversation  to  cover  Eileen's  defection. 

"I  have  been  told,"  she  said,  addressing  the  author, 
"that  you  are  looking  for  a  home  in  California.  Is  this 
true,  or  is  it  merely  that  every  good  Californian  hopes 
this  will  happen  when  any  distinguished  Easterner  comes 
our  way  ? " 

"I  can  scarcely  answer  you,"  said  Peter  Morrison, 
"because  my  ideas  on  the  subject  are  still  slightly 
nebulous,  but  I  am  only  too  willing  to  see  them  become 


concrete." 


"You  have  struck  exactly  the  right  place,"  said  Linda. 
"We  have  concrete  by  the  wagon  load  in  this  valley  and 
we  are  perfectly  willing  to  donate  the  amount  required  to 
materialize  your  ideas.  Do  you  dream  of  a  whole  ranch 
or  only  a  nest?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  answered  Peter  Morrison  with  a 
most  attractive  drawl  in  his  slow  speech,  "the  fact  is  the 
dimensions  of  my  dream  must  fit  my  purse.  Ever  since  I 
finished  college  I  have  been  in  newspaper  work  and  I  have 
lived  in  an  apartment  in  New  York  except  while  I  was 
abroad.  When  I  came  back  my  paper  sent  me  to  San 
Francisco  and  from  there  I  motored  down  to  see  for  mvself 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  41 

if  the  wonderful  things  that  are  written  about  Los  Angeles 
County  are  true." 

"That  is  not  much  of  a  compliment  to  us,"  said  Linda 
slowly.  "How  do  you  think  we  would  dare  write  them  if 
they  were  not  true  ? " 

This  caused  such  a  laugh  that  everyone  felt  much  easier. 
Marian  turned  her  dark  eyes  toward  Peter  Morrison. 

"Linda  and  I  are  busy  people,"  she  said.  "We  waste 
little  time  in  indirections,  so  I  hope  it's  not  out  of  the  way 
for  me  to  ask  straight-forwardly  if  you  are  truly  in  earnest, 
about  wanting  a  home  in  Lilac  Valley?" 

"Then  I'll  have  to  answer  you,"  said  Peter,  "that  I 
have  an  attractive  part  of  the  'makinV  and  I  am  in  deadly 
earnest  about  wanting  a  home  somewhere.  I  am  sick  in 
my  soul  of  narrow  apartments  and  wheels  and  the  rush  and 
roar  of  the  city.  There  was  a  time  when  I  ate  and  drank 
it.  It  was  the  very  breath  of  life  to  me.  I  charged  on 
Broadway  like  a  caterpillar  tank  charging  in  battle;  but  it 
is  very  remarkable  how  quickly  one  changes  in  this  world. 
I  have  had  some  success  in  my  work,  and  the  higher  I  go, 
the  better  work  I  feel  I  can  do  in  a  quiet  place  and  among 
less  enervating  surroundings.  John  and  I  were  in  college 
together,  room-mates,  and  no  doubt  he  has  told  you  that 
we  graduated  with  the  same  class.  He  has  found  his 
location  here  and  I  would  particularly  enjoy  having  a  home 
near  him.  They  tell  me  there  are  well-trained  servants 
to  look  after  a  house  and  care  for  a  bachelor,  so  I  truly  feel 
that  if  I  can  find  a  location  I  would  like,  and  if  Henry  can 
plan  me  a  house,  and  I  can  stretch  my  purse  to  cover  the 


42      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

investment,  that  there  is  a  very  large  possibility  that  some 
where  within  twenty  miles  of  Los  Angeles  I  may  find  the 
home  of  my  dreams." 

"One  would  almost  expect,"  said  Marian,  "that  a 
writer  would  say  something  more  original.  This  valley 
is  filled  with  people  who  came  here  saying  precisely  what 
you  have  said;  and  the  lure  of  the  land  won  them  and 
here  they  are,  shameless  boosters  of  California." 

"Why  shameless?"  inquired  Henry  Anderson. 

"Because  California  so  verifies  the  wildest  statement 
that  can  be  made  concerning  her  that  one  may  go  the 
limit  of  imagination  without  shame,"  laughed  Marian.  "I 
try  in  all  my  dealings  to  stick  to  the  straight  and  narrow 
path." 

"Oh,  Kid,  don't  stick  to  the  straight  and  narrow,1"  broke 
in  Linda,  "there's  no  scenery." 

Eileen  laid  down  her  fork  and  stared  in  white-lipped 
amazement  at  the  two  girls,  but  she  was  utterly  incapable 
of  forgetting  herself  and  her  neatly  arranged  plans  to  have 
the  three  cultivated  and  attractive  young  men  all  to  her 
self  for  the  evening.  She  realized  too,  from  the  satis 
faction  betrayed  in  the  glances  these  men  were  exchanging 
among  each  other,  the  ease  with  which  they  sat,  and  the 
gusto  with  which  they  ate  the  food  Katy  was  deftly 
serving  them,  that  something  was  happening  which  never 
had  happened  at  the  Strong  table  since  she  had  presided 
as  its  head,  her  sole  endeavour  having  been  to  flatter  her 
guests  or  to  extract  flattery  for  herself  from  them. 

"  That  is  what  makes  this  valley  so  adorable,"  said 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  43 

Marian  when  at  last  she  could  make  herself  heard.  "It 
is  neither  straight  nor  narrow.  The  wing  of  a  white  sea 
swallow  never  swept  a  lovelier  curve  on  the  breast  of  the 
ocean  than  the  line  of  this  valley.  My  mother  was  the 
dearest  little  woman,  and  she  used  to  say  that  this  valley 
was  outlined  by  a  gracious  gesture  from  the  hand  of 
God  in  the  dawn  of  Creation." 

Peter  Morrison  deliberately  turned  in  his  chair,  his 
eyes  intent  on  Marian's  earnest  face. 

"You  almost  make  me  want  to  say,  in  the  language  of  an 
old  hymn  I  used  to  hear  my  mother  sing,  'Here  will  I  set 
up  my  rest.'  With  such  a  name  as  Lilac  Valley  and  with 
such  a  thought  in  the  heart  concerning  it,  I  scarcely  feel 
that  there  is  any  use  in  looking  further.  How  about  it, 
Henry?  Doesn't  it  sound  conclusive  to  you?" 

"It  certainly  does,"  answered  Henry  Anderson,  "and 
from  what  I  could  see  as  we  drove  in,  it  looks  as  well  as 
it  sounds." 

Peter  Morrison  turned  to  his  friend. 

"Gilman,"  he  said,  "you're  a  lawyer;  you  should 
know  the  things  I'd  like  to.  Are  there  desirable  home- 
sites  still  to  be  found  in  the  valley,  and  does  the  inflation  of 
land  at  the  present  minute  put  it  out  of  my  reach?" 

"Well,  that  is  on  a  par  with  the  average  question  asked 
a  lawyer,"  answered  Gilman,  "but  part  of  it  I  can  answer 
definitely  and  at  once.  I  think  every  acre  of  land 
suitable  for  garden  or  field  cultivation  is  taken.  I  doubt 
if  there  is  much  of  the  orchard  land  higher  up  remaining 
and  what  there  is  would  command  a  rather  stiff  price; 


44      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

but  if  you  would  be  content  with  some  small  plateau  at 
the  base  of  a  mountain  where  you  could  set  any  sort  of  a 
house  and  have — say  two  or  three  acres,  mostly  of  sage 
and  boulders  and  greasewood  and  yucca  around  it " 

"Why  in  this  world  are  you  talking  about  stones 
and  sage  and  greasewood?"  cried  Linda.  "Next  thing 
they'll  be  asking  about  mountain  lions  and  rattlesnakes." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Gilman,  "I  fear  none  of  us 
has  remembered  to  present  Miss  Linda  as  a  coming 
naturalist.  She  got  her  start  from  her  father  who  was 
one  of  the  greatest  nerve  specialists  the  world  ever  has 
known.  She  knows  every  inch  of  the  mountains,  the 
canyons  and  the  desert.  She  always  says  that  she  cut 
her  teeth  on  a  chunk  of  adobe,  while  her  father  hunted  the 
nests  of  trap-door  spiders  out  in  Sunland.  What  should 
I  have  said  when  describing  a  suitable  homesite  for  Peter, 
Linda?" 

"You  should  have  assumed  that  immediately,  Peter," — 
Linda  lifted  her  eyes  to  Morrison's  face  with  a  sparkle  of 
gay  challenge,  and  by  way  of  apology  interjected — "I  am 
only  a  kid,  you  know,  so  I  may  call  John's  friend  Peter — 
you  should  have  assumed  that  sage  and  greasewood 
would  simply  have  vanished  from  any  home  location 
chosen  by  Peter,  leaving  it  all  lacy  blue  with  lilac,  and 
misty  white  with  lemonade  bush,  and  lovely  gold  with 
monkey  flower,  and  purple  with  lupin,  and  painted  blood 
red  with  broad  strokes  of  Indian  paint  brush,  and  beauti 
fully  lighted  with  feathery  flames  from  Our  Lord's  Candles, 
and  perfumy  as  altar  incense  with  wild  almond." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  45 

"Oh,  my  soul,"  said  Peter  Morrison.  "Good  people,  I 
have  located.  I  have  come  to  stay.  I  would  like  three 
acres  but  I  could  exist  with  two;  an  acre  would  seem 
an  estate  to  me,  and  my  ideas  of  a  house,  Henry,  are 
shrivelling.  I  did  have  a  dream  of  something  that  must 
have  been  precious  near  a  home.  There  might  have  been 
an  evanescent  hint  of  flitting  draperies  and  inexperienced 
feet  in  it,  but  for  the  sake  of  living  and  working  in  such 
a  location  as  Miss  Linda  describes,  I  would  gladly  cut 
my  residence  to  a  workroom  and  a  sleeping  room  and 
kitchen." 

"Won't  do,"  said  Linda.  "A  house  is  not  a  house  in 
California  without  a  furnace  and  a  bathroom.  We  are 
cold  as  blue  blazes  here  when  the  sun  goes  down  and  the 
salty  fog  creeps  up  from  the  sea,  and  the  icy  mist  rolls 
down  from  the  mountains  to  chill  our  bones;  and  when  it 
has  not  rained  for  six  months  at  a  stretch,  your  own 
private  swimming  pool  is  a  comfort.  This  to  add  veri 
similitude  to  what  everyone  else  in  Lilac  Valley  is  going  to 
tell  you." 

"I  hadn't  thought  I  would  need  a  fire,"  said  Peter, 
"and  I  was  depending  on  the  ocean  for  my  bath  tub.  I 
am  particularly  fond  of  a  salt  rub." 

So  far,  Eileen  had  not  deigned  to  enter  the  conversation. 
It  was  all  so  human,  so  far  from  her  ideas  of  entertaining 
that  the  disapproval  on  her  lips  was  not  sufficiently  veiled 
to  be  invisible,  and  John  Gilman,  glancing  in  her  direction, 
realized  that  he  was  having  the  best  time  he  had  ever  had 
in  the  Strong  household  since  the  passing  of  his  friends. 


46      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Doctor  and  Mrs.  Strong,  vaguely  wondered  why.  And  it 
occurred  to  him  that  Linda  and  Marian  were  dominating 
the  party.  He  said  the  most  irritating  thing  possible  in 
the  circumstances:  "I  am  afraid  you  are  not  feeling  well 
this  evening,  Eileen." 

Eileen  laughed  shortly. 

"The  one  perfect  thing  about  me,"  she  said  with  closely 
cut  precision,  "is  my  health.  I  haven't  the  faintest 
notion  what  it  means  to  be  ill.  I  am  merely  waiting 
for  the  conversation  to  take  a  turn  where  I  can  join  in  it 
intelligently." 

"Why,  bless  the  child!"  exclaimed  Linda.  "Can't  you 
talk  intelligently  about  a  suitable  location  for  a  home? 
On  what  subject  is  a  woman  supposed  to  be  intelligent  if 
she  is  not  at  her  best  on  the  theme  of  home?  If  you 
really  are  not  interested  you  had  better  begin  to  polish 
up,  because  it  appeals  to  me  that  the  world  goes  just  so  far 
in  one  direction,  and  then  it  whirls  to  the  right-about  and 
goes  equally  as  far  in  the  opposite  direction.  If  Daddy 
were  living  I  think  he  would  say  we  have  reached  the 
limit  with  apartment  house  homes  minus  fireplaces,  with 
restaurant  dining  minus  a  blessing,  with  jazz  music  minus 
melody,  with  jazz  dancing  minus  grace,  with  national 
progress  minus  cradles." 

"Linda!"  cried  Eileen  indignantly. 

"Good  gracious!"  cried  Linda.  "Do  I  get  the  shillalah 
for  that?  Weren't  all  of  us  rocked  in  cradles?  I  think 
that  the  pendulum  has  swung  far  and  it  is  time  to  swing 
back  to  where  one  man  and  one  woman  choose  any  little 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  47 

spot  on  God's  footstool,  build  a  nest  and  plan  their  lives 
in  accord  with  personal  desire  and  inclination  instead  of 
aping  their  neighbours/' 

"Bravo!"  cried  Henry  Anderson.  "Miss  Linda,  if  you 
see  any  suitable  spot,  and  you  think  I  would  serve  for  a 
bug-catcher,  won't  you  please  stake  the  location?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Linda.  "Would 
it  be  the  old  case  of  *I  furnish  the  bread  and  you  furnish 
the  water'?" 

"No,"  said  Peter  Morrison,  "it  would  not.  Henry  is 
doing  mighty  well.  I  guarantee  that  he  would  furnish 
a  cow  that  would  produce  real  cream." 

"How  joyous!"  said  Linda.  "I  feel  quite  competent  to 
manage  the  bread  question.  We'll  call  that  settled  then. 
When  I  next  cast  an  appraising  eye  over  my  beloved 
valley,  I  shan't  select  the  choicest  spot  in  it  for  Peter 
Morrison  to  write  a  book  in;  and  I  want  to  warn  you 
people  when  you  go  hunting  to  keep  a  mile  away  from 
Marian's  plot.  She  has  had  her  location  staked  from 
childhood  and  has  worked  on  her  dream  house  until  she 
has  it  all  ready  to  put  the  ice  in  the  chest  and  scratch  the 
match  for  the  living  room  fire-logs.  The  one  thing  she 
won't  ever  tell  is  where  her  location  is,  but  wherever  it  is, 
Peter  Morrison,  don't  you  dare  take  it." 

"I  wouldn't  for  the  world,"  said  Peter  Morrison 
gravely.  "If  Miss  Thome  will  tell  me  even  on  which 
side  of  the  valley  her  location  lies,  I  will  agree  to  stay  on 
the  other  side." 

"Well  there  is  one  thing  you  can  depend  upon,"  said  the 


48      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

irrepressible  Linda  before  Marian  had  time  to  speak.  "It 
is  sure  to  be  on  the  sunny  side.  Every  living  soul  in 
California  is  looking  for  a  place  in  the  sun." 

"Then  I  will  make  a  note  of  it,"  said  Peter  Morrison. 
"  But  isn't  there  enough  sun  in  all  this  lovely  valley  that 
I  may  have  a  place  in  it  too  ? " 

"You  go  straight  ahead  and  select  any  location  you 
like,"  said  Marian.  "  I  give  you  the  freedom  of  the  valley. 
There's  not  one  chance  in  ten  thousand  that  you  would 
find  or  see  anything  attractive  about  the  one  secluded 
spot  I  have  always  hoped  I  might  some  day  own." 

"This  is  not  fooling,  then?"  asked  Peter  Morrison. 
"You  truly  have  a  place  selected  where  you  would  like 
to  live?" 

"She  truly  has  the  spot  selected  and  she  truly  has  the 
house  on  paper  and  it  truly  is  a  house  of  dreams,"  said 
Linda.  "I  dream  about  it  myself.  When  she  builds  it 
and  lives  in  it  awhile  and  finds  out  all  the  things  that  are 
wrong  with  it,  then  I  am  going  to  build  one  like  it,  only 
I  shall  eliminate  all  the  mistakes  she  has  made." 

"I  have  often  wondered,"  said  Henry  Anderson,  "if 
such  a  thing  ever  happened  as  that  people  builded  a  house 
and  lived  in  it,  say  ten  years,  and  did  not  find  one  single 
thing  about  it  that  they  would  change  if  they  had  it  to 
build  over  again.  I  never  have  heard  of  such  a  case. 
Have  any  of  you?" 

"I  am  sure  no  one  has,"  said  John  Gilman  meditatively, 
"and  it's  a  queer  thing.  I  can't  see  why  people  don't  plan 
a  house  the  way  they  want  it  before  they  build." 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  49 

Marian  turned  to  him — the  same  Marian  he  had  fallen 
in  love  with  when  they  were  children. 

" Mightn't  it  be,"  she  asked,  "that  it  is  due  to  changing 
conditions  caused  by  the  rapid  development  of  science  and 
invention?  If  one  had  built  the  most  perfect  house 
possible  five  years  ago  and  learned  to-day  that  infinitely 
superior  lighting  and  heating  and  living  facilities  could 
be  installed  at  much  less  expense  and  far  greater  con 
venience,  don't  you  think  that  one  would  want  to  change? 
Isn't  life  a  series  of  changes  ?  Mustn't  one  be  changing 
constantly  to  keep  abreast  of  one's  day  and  age?" 

"Why,  surely,"  answered  Gilman,  "and  no  doubt 
therein  lies  at  least  part  of  the  answer  to  Anderson's 
question." 

"And  then,"  added  Marian,  "things  happen  in  families. 
Sometimes  more  babies  than  they  expect  come  to  newly 
married  people  and  they  require  more  room." 

"My  goodness,  yes!"  broke  in  Linda.  "Just  look  at 
Sylvia  To wr send — twins  to  begin  with." 

"Linda!"  breathed  Eileen,  aghast. 

"So  glad  you  like  my  name,  dear,"  murmured  Linda 
sweetly. 

"And  then,"  continued  Marian,  "changes  come  to 
other  people  as  they  have  to  me.  I  can't  say  that  I  had 
any  fault  to  find  with  either  the  comforts  or  the  conveni 
ences  of  Hawthorne  House  until  Daddy  and  Mother  were 
swept  from  it  at  one  cruel  sweep;  and  after  that  it  was 
nothing  to  me  but  a  haunted  house,  and  I  don't  feel  that 
I  can  be  blamed  for  wanting  to  leave  it.  I  will  be  glad  to 


50      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

know  that  there  are  people  living  in  it  who  won't  see  a  big 
strong  figure  meditatively  smoking  before  the  fireplace 
and  a  gray  dove  of  a  woman  sitting  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair.  I  will  be  glad,  if  Fate  is  kind  to  me  and  people 
like  my  houses,  to  come  back  to  the  valley  when  I  can 
afford  to  and  build  myself  a  home  that  has  no  past— a 
place,  in  fact,  where  I  can  furnish  my  own  ghost,  and  if  I 
meet  myself  on  the  stairs  then  I  won't  be  shocked  by  me." 

"I  don't  think  there  is  a  soul  in  the  valley  who  blames 
you  for  selling  your  home  and  going,  Marian,"  said  Linda 
soberly.  "I  think  it  would  be  foolish  if  you  did  not.'\ 

The  return  to  the  living  room  brought  no  change. 
Eileen  pouted  while  Linda  and  Marian  thoroughly  en 
joyed  themselves  and  gave  the  guests  a  most  entertaining 
evening.  So  disgruntled  was  Eileen,  when  the  young 
men  had  gone,  that  she  immediately  went  to  her  room, 
leaving  Linda  and  Marian  to  close  the  house  and  make 
their  own  arrangements  for  the  night.  Whereupon 
Linda  deliberately  led  Marian  to  the  carefully  dusted  and 
flower-garnished  guest  room  and  installed  her  with  every 
comfort  and  convenience  that  the  house  afforded.  Then 
bringing  her  brushes  from  her  own  room,  she  and  Marian 
made  themselves  comfortable,  visiting  far  into  the  night. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Linda,  "if  Peter  Morrison  will  go  to  a 
real  estate  man  in  the  morning  and  look  over  the  locations 
remaining  in  Lilac  Valley." 

"Yes,  I  think  he  will,"  said  Marian  conclusively. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Linda,  "that  we  did  a  whole  lot 
of  talking  about  homes  to-night;  whic)?  reminds  me, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  DREAMS  51 

Marian,  in  packing  have  you  put  in  your  plans?  Have 
you  got  your  last  draught  with  you?" 

"No,"  answered  Marian,  "it's  in  one  of  the  cases.  I 
haven't  anything  but  two  or  three  pencil  sketches  from 
which  I  drew  the  final  plans  as  I  now  think  I'll  submit 
them  for  the  contest.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  tall  feather  in  my 
cap,  Linda,  if  by  any  chance  I  should  win  that  prize?" 

"It  would  be  more  than  a  feather,"  said  Linda.  "It 
would  be  a  whole  cap,  and  a  coat  to  wear  with  it,  and  a 
dress  to  match  the  coat,  and  slippers  to  match  the  dress, 
and  so  forth  just  like  The  House  That  Jack  Built.'  Have 
you  those  sketches,  Marian?" 

Opening  her  case,  Marian  slid  from  underneath  the 
garments  folded  in  it,  several  sheets  on  which  were 
roughly  pencilled  sketches  of  the  exterior  of  a  house — on 
the  reverse,  the  upstairs  and  downstairs  floor  plans;  and 
sitting  down,  she  explained  these  to  Linda.  Then  she 
left  them  lying  on  a  table,  waiting  to  be  returned  to  her 
case  before  she  replaced  her  clothes  in  the  morning.  Both 
girls  were  fast  asleep  when  a  mischievous  wind  slipped 
down  the  vaHey,  and  lightly  lifting  the  top  sheet,  carried 
it  through  the  window,  across  the  garden,  and  dropped  it 
at  the  foot  of  a  honey  dripping  loquat. 

Because  they  had  talked  until  late  in  the  night  of 
Marian's  plans  and  prospects  in  the  city,  of  Peter  Morri 
son's  proposed  residence  in  the  valley,  of  how  lonely 
Linda  would  be  without  Marian,  of  everything  concerning 
their  lives  except  the  change  in  Eileen  and  John  Oilman, 
the  two  girls  slept  until  late  in  the  morning,  so  that  there 


S2      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

were  but  a  few  minutes  remaining  in  which  Marian 
might  dress,  have  a  hasty  breakfast  and  make  her  train. 
In  helping  her,  it  fell  to  Linda  to  pack  Marian's  case.  She 
put  the  drawings  she  found  on  the  table  in  the  bottom, 
the  clothing  and  brushes  on  top  of  them,  and  closing  the 
case,  carried  it  herself  until  she  delivered  it  into  the 
porter's  hands  as  Marian  boarded  her  train. 


CHAPTER  IV 
LINDA  STARTS  A  REVOLUTION 

THE  last  glimpse  Marian  Thorne  had  of  Linda  was 
as  she  stood  alone,  waving  her  hand,  her  cheeks 
flushed,  her  eyes  shining,  her  final  word  cheery  and 
encouraging.  Marian  smiled  and  waved  in  return  until 
the  train  bore  her  away.  Then  she  sat  down  wearily 
and  stared  unseeingly  from  a  window.  Life  did  such 
very  dreadful  things  to  people.  Her  girlhood  had  been 
so  happy.  Then  came  the  day  of  the  Black  Shadow, 
but  in  her  blackest  hour  she  had  not  felt  alone.  She  had 
supposed  she  was  leaning  on  John  Gilman  as  securely  as 
she  had  leaned  on  her  father.  She  had  learned,  with 
the  loss  of  her  father,  that  one  cannot  be  sure  of  any 
thing  in  this  world  least  of  all  of  human  life.  Yet  in  her 
darkest  days  she  had  depended  on  John  Gilman.  She 
had  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  for  her  that  he 
struggled  daily  to  gain  a  footing  in  his  chosen  profession. 
When  success  came,  when  there  was  no  reason  that  Marian 
could  see  why  they  might  not  have  begun  life  together, 
there  had  come  a  subtle  change  in  John,  and  that  change 
had  developed  so  rapidly  that  in  a  few  weeks'  time,  she 
was  forced  to  admit  that  the  companionship  and  loving 
attentions  that  once  had  been  all  hers  were  now  all  Eileen's. 

53 


54      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

She  sat  in  the  train,  steadily  carrying  her  mile  after 
mile  further  from  her  home,  and  tried  to  think  what  had 
happened  and  how  and  why  it  had  happened.  She  could 
not  feel  that  she  had  been  wrong  in  her  estimate  of  John 
Gilman.  Her  valuation  of  him  had  been  taught  her  by 
her  father  and  mother  and  by  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Strong  and 
by  John  Gilman  himself.  Dating  from  the  time  that 
Doctor  Strong  had  purchased  the  property  and  built  a 
home  in  Lilac  Valley  beside  Hawthorne  House,  Marian 
had  admired  Eileen  and  had  loved  her.  She  was  several 
years  older  than  the  beautiful  girl  she  had  grown  up 
beside.  Age  had  not  mattered;  Eileen's  beauty  had  not 
mattered.  Marian  was  good  looking  herself. 

She  always  had  known  that  Eileen  had  imposed  upon  her 
and  was  selfish  with  her,  but  Eileen's  impositions  were  so 
skilfully  manoeuvred,  her  selfishness  was  so  adorably 
taken  for  granted  that  Marian  in  retrospection  felt  that 
perhaps  she  was  responsible  for  at  least  a  small  part  of  it. 
She  never  had  been  able  to  see  the  inner  workings  of 
Eileen's  heart.  She  was  not  capable  of  understanding  that 
when  John  Gilman  was  poor  and  struggling  Eileen  had 
ignored  him.  It  had  not  occurred  to  Marian  that  when  the 
success  for  which  he  struggled  began  to  come  generously, 
Eileen  would  begin  to  covet  the  man  she  had  previously 
disdained.  She  had  always  striven  to  find  friends  among 
people  of  wealth  and  distinction.  How  was  Marian  to 
know  that  when  John  began  to  achieve  wealth  and  distinc 
tion,  Eileen  would  covet  him  also? 

Marian  could  not  know  that  Eileen  had  studied  her 


LINDA  STARTS  A  REVOLUTION  55 

harder  than  she  ever  studied  any  book,  that  she  had  de 
liberately  set  herself  to  make  the  most  of  every  defect  or 
idiosyncrasy  in  Marian,  at  the  same  time  offering  herself  as 
a  charming  substitute.  Marian  was  prepared  to  be  the 
mental,  the  spiritual,  and  the  physical  mate  of  a  man. 

Eileen  was  not  prepared  to  be  in  truth  and  honour  any 
of  these.  She  was  prepared  to  make  any  emergency  of 
life  subservient  to  her  own  selfish  desires.  She  was  pre 
pared  to  use  any  man  with  whom  she  came  in  contact 
for  the  furtherance  of  any  whim  that  at  the  hour  possessed 
her.  What  she  wanted  was  unbridled  personal  liberty, 
unlimited  financial  resources. 

Marian,  almost  numbed  with  physical  fatigue  and  weeks 
of  mental  strain,  came  repeatedly  against  the  dead  wall  of 
ignorance  when  she  tried  to  fathom  the  change  that  had 
taken  place  between  herself  and  John  Oilman  and  between 
herself  and  Eileen. 

Daniel  Thorne  was  an  older  man  than  Doctor  Strong. 
He  had  accumulated  more  property.  Marian  had  sufficient 
means  at  her  command  to  make  it  unnecessary  for  her  to 
acquire  a  profession  or  work  for  her  living,  but  she  had 
always  been  interested  in  and  loved  to  plan  houses  and 
help  her  friends  with  buildings  they  were  erecting.  When 
the  silence  and  the  loneliness  of  her  empty  home  enveloped 
her,  she  had  begun,  at  first  as  a  distraction,  to  work  on  the 
drawings  for  a  home  that  an  architect  had  made  for  one 
of  her  neighbours.  She  had  been  able  to  suggest  so  many 
comforts  and  conveniences,  and  so  to  revise  these  plans 
that,  at  first  in  a  desultory  way,  later  in  real  earnest,  she 


56      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

had  begun  to  draw  plans  for  houses.  Then,  being  of 
methodical  habit  and  mathematical  mind,  she  began  scal 
ing  up  the  plans  and  figuring  on  the  cost  of  building,  and 
so  she  had  worked  until  she  felt  that  she  was  evolving 
homes  that  could  be  built  for  the  same  amount  of  money 
and  lived  in  with  more  comfort  and  convenience  than  the 
homes  that  many  of  her  friends  were  having  planned  for 
them  by  architects  of  the  city. 

To  one  spot  in  the  valley  she  had  gone  from  childhood 
as  a  secret  place  in  which  to  dream  and  study.  She  had 
loved  that  retreat  until  it  had  become  a  living  passion 
with  her.  The  more  John  Gilman  neglected  her,  the 
more  she  concentrated  upon  her  plans,  and  when  the  hour 
came  in  which  she  realized  what  she  had  lost  and  what 
Eileen  had  won,  she  reached  the  decision  to  sell  her  home, 
go  to  the  city,  and  study  until  she  knew  whether  she  really 
could  succeed  at  her  chosen  profession. 

Then  she  would  come  back  to  the  valley,  buy  the  spot 
she  coveted,  build  the  house  of  which  she  dreamed,  and  in 
it  she  would  spend  the  remainder  of  her  life  making 
homes  for  the  women  who  knew  how  to  hold  the  love  of 
men.  When  she  reached  the  city  she  had  decided  that  if 
one  could  not  have  the  best  in  life,  one  must  be  content 
with  the  next  best,  and  for  her  the  next  best  would  be 
homes  for  other  people,  since  she  might  not  materialize 
the  home  she  had  dreamed  for  John  Gilman  and  herself. 
She  had  not  wanted  to  leave  the  valley.  She  had  not 
wanted  to  lose  John  Gilman.  She  had  not  wanted  to  part 
with  the  home  she  had  been  reared  in.  Yet  all  of  these 


LINDA  STARTS  A  REVOLUTION  57 

things  seemed  to  have  been  forced  upon  her.  All  Marian 
knew  to  do  was  to  square  her  shoulders,  take  a  deep 
breath,  put  regrets  behind  her,  and  move  steadily  toward 
the  best  future  she  could  devise  for  herself. 

She  carried  letters  of  introduction  to  the  San  Francisco 
architects,  Nicholson  and  Snow,  who  had  offered  a  prize 
for  the  best  house  that  could  be  built  in  a  reasonable  time 
for  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  She  meant  to  offer  her  plans 
in  this  competition.  Through  friends  she  had  secured 
a  comfortable  place  in  which  to  live  and  work.  She  need 
undergo  no  hardships  in  searching  for  a  home,  in  clothing 
herself,  in  paying  for  instruction  in  the  course  in  archi 
tecture  she  meant  to  pursue. 

Concerning  Linda  she  could  not  resist  a  feeling  of 
exultation.  Linda  was  one  of  the  friends  in  Lilac  Valley 
about  whom  Marian  could  think  whole-heartedly  and 
lovingly.  Sometimes  she  had  been  on  the  point  of  making 
a  suggestion  to  Linda,  and  then  she  had  contented  herself 
with  waiting  in  the  thought  that  very  soon  there  must 
come  to  the  girl  a  proper  sense  of  her  position  and  her 
rights.  The  experience  of  the  previous  night  taught  Mar 
ian  that  Linda  had  arrived.  She  would  no  longer  be  the 
compliant  little  sister  who  would  run  Eileen's  errands, 
wait  upon  her  guests  and  wear  disreputable  clothing. 
When  Linda  reached  a  point  where  she  was  capable  of  the 
performance  of  the  previous  night,  Marian  knew  that  she 
would  proceed  to  live  up  to  her  blue  china  in  every  rami 
fication  of  life.  She  did  not  know  exactly  how  Linda  would 
follow  up  the  assertion  of  her  rights  that  she  had  made,  but 


58      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

she  did  know  that  in  some  way  she  would  follow  it  up,  be 
cause  Linda  was  a  very  close  reproduction  of  her  father. 

She  had  been  almost  constantly  with  him  during  his 
life,  very  much  alone  since  his  death.  She  was  a  busy 
young  person.  From  Marian's  windows  she  had  watched 
the  business  of  carrying  on  the  wild  flower  garden  that 
Linda  and  her  father  had  begun.  What  the  occupation 
was  that  kept  the  light  burning  in  Linda's  room  far 
into  the  night  Marian  did  not  know.  For  a  long  time  she 
had  supposed  that  her  studies  were  difficult  for  her,  and 
when  she  had  asked  Linda  if  it  were  not  possible  for  her  to 
prepare  her  lessons  without  so  many  hours  of  midnight 
study  she  had  caught  the  stare  of  frank  amazement  with 
which  the  girl  regarded  her,  and  in  that  surprised,  almost 
grieved  look  she  had  realized  that  very  probably  a  daugh 
ter  of  Alexander  Strong,  so  resembling  him  as  Linda  re 
sembled  him,  would  not  be  compelled  to  overwork  to 
master  the  prescribed  course  of  any  city  high  school. 
What  Linda  was  doing  during  those  midnight  hours 
Marian  did  not  know,  but  she  did  know  that  she  was  not 
wrestling  with  mathematics  and  languages — at  least  not 
all  of  the  time.  So  Marian,  knowing  Linda's  gift  with  a 
pencil,  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she  was  drawing 
pictures;  but  circumstantial  evidence  was  all  she  had  as  a 
basis  for  her  conviction.  Linda  went  her  way  silently  and 
alone.  She  was  acquainted  with  everyone  living  in  Lilac 
Valley,  frank  and  friendly  with  all  of  them;  aside  from 
Marian  she  had  no  intimate  friend.  Not  another  girl  in 
the  valley  cared  to  follow  Linda's  pursuits  or  to  cultivate 


LINDA  STARTS  A  REVOLUTION  59 

the  acquaintance  of  the  breeched,  booted  girl,  constantly 
devoting  herself  to  outdoor  study  with  her  father  during 
his  lifetime,  afterward  alone. 

For  an  instant  after  Marian  had  boarded  her  train  Linda 
stood  looking  at  it,  her  heart  so  heavy  that  it  pained 
acutely.  She  had  not  said  one  word  to  make  Marian  feel 
that  she  did  not  want  her  to  go.  Not  once  had  she  put 
forward  the  argument  that  Marian's  going  would  leave 
her  to  depend  entirely  for  human  sympathy  upon  the 
cook,  and  her  guardian,  also  administrator  of  the  Strong 
estate,  John  Gilman.  So  long  as  he  was  Marian's  friend 
Linda  had  admired  John  Gilman.  She  had  gone  to  him 
for  some  measure  of  the  companionship  she  had  missed  in 
losing  her  father.  Since  Gilman  had  allowed  himself  to 
be  captivated  by  Eileen,  Linda  had  harboured  a  feeling 
concerning  him  almost  of  contempt.  Linda  was  so 
familiar  with  every  move  that  Eileen  made,  so  thoroughly 
understood  that  there  was  a  motive  back  of  her  every 
action,  that  she  could  not  see  why  John  Gilman,  having 
known  her  from  childhood,  should  not  understand  her  also. 

She  had  decided  that  the  time  had  come  when  she  would 
force  Eileen  to  give  her  an  allowance,  however  small,  for 
her  own  personal  expenses,  that  she  must  in  some  way 
manage  to  be  clothed  so  that  she  was  not  a  matter  of  com 
ment  even  among  the  boys  of  her  school,  and  she  could  see 
no  reason  why  the  absolute  personal  liberty  she  always  had 
enjoyed  so  long  as  she  disappeared  when  Eileen  did  not 
want  her  and  appeared  when  she  did,  should  not  extend  to 
her  own  convenience  as  well  as  Eileen's. 


60      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Life  was  a  busy  affair  for  Linda.  She  had  not  time  to 
watch  Marian's  train  from  sight.  She  must  hurry  to  the 
nearest  street  car  and  make  all  possible  haste  or  she  would 
be  late  for  her  classes.  Throughout  the  day  she  worked 
with  the  deepest  concentration,  but  she  could  not  keep 
down  the  knowledge  that  Eileen  would  have  things  to  say,, 
possibly  things  to  do,  when  they  met  that  evening,  for 
Eileen  was  capable  of  disconcerting  hysteria.  Previously 
Linda  had  remained  stubbornly  silent  during  any  tirade 
in  which  Eileen  chose  to  indulge.  She  had  allowed  her 
self  to  be  nagged  into  doing  many  things  that  she  despised, 
because  she  would  not  assert  herself  against  apparent  in 
justice.  But  since  she  had  come  fully  to  realize  the  results 
of  Eileen's  course  of  action  for  Marian  and  for  herself,  she 
was  deliberately  arriving  at  the  conclusion  that  hereafter 
she  would  speak  when  she  had  a  defence,  and  she  would 
make  it  her  business  to  let  the  sun  shine  on  any  dark  spot 
that  she  discovered  in  Eileen. 

Linda  knew  that  if  John  Gilman  were  well  acquainted 
with  Eileen,  he  could  not  come  any  nearer  to  loving  her 
than  she  did.  Such  an  idea  as  loving  Eileen  never  had 
entered  Linda's  thoughts.  To  Linda,  Eileen  was  not 
lovable.  That  she  should  be  expected  to  love  her  because 
they  had  the  same  parents  and  lived  in  the  same  home 
seemed  absurd.  She  was  slightly  disappointed,  on  reach 
ing  home,  to  find  that  Eileen  was  not  there. 

"Will  the  lady  of  the  house  dine  with  us  this 
evening?"  she  asked  as  she  stood  eating  an  apple  in  the 
kitchen. 


LINDA  STARTS  A  REVOLUTION  61 

"She  didn't  say,"  answered  Katy.  "Have  ye  had  it 
out  about  last  night  yet?" 

"No,"  answered  Linda.  "That  is  why  I  was  asking 
about  her.  I  want  to  clear  the  atmosphere  before  I  make 
my  new  start  in  life." 

"Now,  don't  ye  be  going  too  far,  lambie,"  cautioned 
Katy.  "Ye  young  things  make  such  an  awful  serious 
business  of  life  these  days.  In  your  scramble  to  wring 
artificial  joy  out  of  it  you  rniss  all  the  natural  joy  the 
good  God  provided  ye." 

"It  seems  to  me,  Katy,"  said  Linda  slowly,  "that  you 
should  put  that  statement  the  other  way  round.  It 
seems  that  life  makes  a  mighty  serious  business  for  us 
young  things,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  if  we  don't  get  the 
right  start  and  have  a  proper  foundation,  life  is  going  to  be 
spoiled  for  us.  One  life  is  all  I've  got  to  live  in  this  world; 
and  I  would  like  it  to  be  the  interesting  and  the  beautiful 
kind  of  life  that  Father  lived." 

Linda  dropped  to  a  chair. 

"Katy,"  she  said,  leaning  forward  and  looking  intently 
Into  the  earnest  face  of  the  woman  before  her,  "Katy, 
I  have  been  thinking  an  awful  lot  lately.  There  is  a 
question  you  could  answer  for  me  if  you  wanted  to." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  any  raison,"  said  Katy,  "why  I 
shouldn't  answer  ye  any  question  ye'd  be  asking  me." 

Linda's  eyes  narrowed  as  they  did  habitually  in  deep 
thought.  She  was  looking  past  Katy  down  the  sunlit 
spaces  of  the  wild  garden  that  was  her  dearest  possession, 
and  then  her  eyes  strayed  higher  to  where  the  blue  walls 


62      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

that  shut  in  Lilac  Valley  ranged  their  peaks  against  the 
sky. 

"Katy,"  she  said,  scarcely  above  her  breath,  "was 
Mother  like  Eileen?" 

Katy  stiffened.  Her  red  face  paled  slightly.  She 
turned  her  back  and  slowly  slid  into  the  oven  the  pie  she 
was  carrying.  She  closed  the  door  with  more  force  than 
was  necessary  and  then  turned  and  deliberately  studied 
Linda  from  the  top  of  her  shining  black  head  to  the  tip  of 
her  shoe. 

"Some,"  she  said  tersely. 

"Yes,  I  know  'some',"  said  Linda,  "but  you  know  I 
was  too  young  to  pay  much  attention,  and  Daddy  man 
aged  always  to  make  me  so  happy  that  I  never  realized 
until  he  was  gone  that  he  not  only  had  been  my  father  but 
my  mother  as  well.  You  know  what  I  mean,  Katy." 

"Yes,"  said  Katy  deliberately,  "I  know  what  ye  mean, 
lambie,  and  I'll  tell  ye  the  truth  as  far  as  I  know  it.  She 
managed  your  father,  she  pampered  him,  but  she  deceived 
him  every  day,  just  about  little  things.  She  always  made 
the  household  accounts  bigger  than  they  were,  and  used  the 
extra  money  for  Miss  Eileen  and  herself — things  like  that. 
I'm  thinkin'  he  never  knew  it.  I'm  thinking  he  loved 
her  deeply  and  trusted  her  complete.  I  know  what  ye're 
getting  at.  She  was  not  enough  like  Eileen  to  make  him 
unhappy  with  her.  He  might  have  been  if  he  had  known 
all  there  was  to  know,  but  for  his  own  sake  I  was  not  the 
one  to  give  her  away,  though  she  constantly  made  him 
think  that  I  was  extravagant  and  wasteful  in  me  work." 


LINDA  STARTS  A  REVOLUTION  63 

Linda's  eyes  came  back  from  the  mountains  and  met 
Katy's  straightly. 

"Katy,"  she  said,  "did  you  ever  see  sisters  as  different 
as  Eileen  and  I  are?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  ever  did,"  said  Katy. 

"It  puzzles  me,"  said  Linda  slowly.  "The  more  I 
think  about  it,  the  less  I  can  understand  why,  if  we  are 
sisters,  we  would  not  accidentally  resemble  each  other  a 
tiny  bit  in  some  way,  and  I  must  say  I  can't  see  that  we  do 
physically  or  mentally." 

"No,"  said  Katy,  "ye  were  just  as  different  as  ye  are 
now  when  I  came  to  this  house  new  and  ye  were  both 
little  things." 

"And  we  are  going  to  be  as  different  and  to  keep  on 
growing  more  different  every  day  of  our  lives,  because  red 
war  breaks  out  the  minute  Eileen  comes  home.  I  haven't 
a  notion  what  she  will  say  to  me  for  what  I  did  last  night 
and  what  I  am  going  to  do  in  the  future,  but  I  have  a  defi 
nite  idea  as  to  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  her." 

"Now,  easy;  ye  go  easy,  lambie,"  cautioned  Katy. 

"I  wouldn't  regret  it,"  said  Linda,  "if  I  took  Eileen  by 
the  shoulders  and  shook  her  till  I  shook  the  rouge  off  her 
cheek,  and  the  brilliantine  off  her  hair,  and  a  million 
mean  little  subterfuges  out  of  her  soul.  You  know  Eileen 
is  lovely  when  she  is  natural,  and  if  she  would  be  straight- 
off-the-bat  square,  I  would  be  proud  to  be  her  sister.  As 
it  is,  I  have  my  doubts,  even  about  this  sister  business." 

"Why,  Linda,  child,  ye  are  just  plain  crazy,"  said  Katy. 
"What  kind  of  notions  are  you  getting  into  your  head?" 


64      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"I  hear  the  front  door,5'  said  Linda,  "and  I  am  going  to 
march  straight  to  battle.  She's  going  up  the  front  stairs. 
I  did  mean  to  short-cut  up  the  back,  but,  come  to  think  of 
it,  I  have  served  my  apprenticeship  on  the  back  stairs.  I 
believe  I'll  ascend  the  front  myself.  Good-bye,  darlin', 
wish  me  luck." 

Linda  swung  Katy  around,  hugged  her  tight,  and 
dropped  a  kiss  on  the  top  of  her  faithful  head. 

"Ye  just  stick  right  up  for  your  rights,"  Katy  advised 
her.  "Ye're  a  great  big  girl.  'Tain't  going  to  be  long 
till  ye're  eighteen.  But  mind  your  old  Katy  about  going 
too  far.  If  ye  lose  your  temper  and  cat-spit,  it  won't  get 
ye  anywhere.  The  fellow  that  keeps  the  coolest  can  al 
ways  do  the  best  head-work." 

"I  get  you,"  said  Linda,  "and  that  is  good  advice  for 
which  I  thank  you." 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  SMOKE  OF  BATTLE 

THEN  Linda  walked  down  the  hall,  climbed  the 
front  stairs,  and  presented  herself  at  Eileen's  door, 
there  to  receive  one  of  the  severest  shocks  of  her 
young  life.  Eileen  had  tossed  her  hat  and  fur  upon  a 
couch,  seated  herself  at  her  dressing  table,  and  was  study 
ing  her  hair  in  the  effort  to  decide  whether  she  could  fluff 
it  up  sufficiently  to  serve  for  the  evening  or  whether  she 
must  take  it  down  and  redress  it.  At  Linda's  step  in  the 
doorway  she  turned  a  smiling  face  upon  her  and  cried: 
"Hello,  little  sister,  come  in  and  tell  me  the  news." 

Linda  stopped  as  if  dazed.  The  wonderment  in  which 
she  looked  at  Eileen  was  stamped  all  over  her.  A  sur 
prised  braid  of  hair  hung  over  one  of  her  shoulders.  Her 
hands  were  surprised,  and  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  and  her 
shoes  flatly  set  on  the  floor. 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned!"  she  ejaculated,  and  then  walked 
to  where  she  could  face  Eileen,  and  seated  herself  without 
making  any  attempt  to  conceal  her  amazement. 

"Linda,"  said  Eileen  sweetly,  "you  would  stand  far 
better  chance  of  being  popular  and  making  a  host  of  friends 
if  you  would  not  be  so  coarse.  I  am  quite  sure  you  never 
heard  Mama  or  me  use  such  an  expression." 


66      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

For  one  long  instant  Linda  was  too  amazed  to  speak. 
Then  she  recovered  herself. 

"Look  here,  Eileen,  you  needn't  try  any  *  perfect  lady' 
business  on  me,"  she  said  shortly.  "Do  you  think  I  have 
forgotten  the  extent  of  your  vocabulary  when  the  curling 
iron  gets  too  hot  or  you  fail  to  receive  an  invitation  to  the 
Bachelors'  Ball?" 

Linda  never  had  been  capable  of  understanding  Eileen. 
At  that  minute  she  could  not  know  that  Eileen  had  been 
facing  facts  through  the  long  hours  of  the  night  and  all 
through  the  day,  and  that  she  had  reached  the  decision 
that  for  the  future  her  only  hope  of  working  Linda  to  her 
will  was  to  conciliate  her,  to  ignore  the  previous  night,  to 
try  to  put  their  relationship  upon  the  old  basis  by  pretend 
ing  that  there  never  had  been  a  break.  She  laughed 
softly. 

"On  rare  occasions,  I  grant  it.  Of  course  a  little  swear 
slips  out  sometimes.  What  I  am  trying  to  point  out  is 
that  you  do  too  much  of  it." 

"How  did  you  ever  get  the  idea,"  said  Linda,  "that  I 
wanted  to  be  popular  and  have  hosts  of  friends?  What 
would  I  do  with  them  if  I  had  them?" 

"Why,  use  them,  my  child,  use  them,"  answered  Eileen 
promptly. 

"Let's  cut  this,"  said  Linda  tersely.  "I  am  not  your 
child.  I'm  getting  to  the  place  where  I  have  serious  doubt 
as  to  whether  I  am  your  sister  or  not.  If  I  am,  it's  not 
my  fault,  and  the  same  clay  never  made  two  objects  quite 
so  different.  I  came  up  here  to  fight,  and  I'm  going  to 


THE  SMOKE  OF  BATTLE  67 

see  it  through.  I'm  on  the  war-path,  so  you  may  take 
your  club  and  proceed  to  battle." 

"What  have  we  to  fight  about?"  inquired  Eileen. 

"Every  single  thing  that  you  have  done  that  was  unfair 
to  me  all  my  life,"  said  Linda.  "Since  all  of  it  has  been 
deliberate  you  probably  know  more  about  the  details  than 
I  do,  so  Til  just  content  myself  with  telling  you  that  for 
the  future,  last  night  marked  a  change  in  the  relations  be 
tween  us.  I  am  going  to  be  eighteen  before  so  very  long, 
and  I  have  ceased  to  be  your  maid  or  your  waitress  or  your 
dupe.  You  are  not  going  to  work  me  one  single  time  when 
I  have  got  brains  to  see  through  your  schemes  after  this. 
Hereafter  I  take  my  place  in  my  father's  house  and  at  my 
father's  table  on  an  equality  with  you." 

Eileen  looked  at  Linda  steadily,  trying  to  see  to  the 
depths  of  her  soul.  She  saw  enough  to  convince  her  that 
the  young  creature  in  front  of  her  was  in  earnest. 

"Hm,"  she  said,  "have  I  been  so  busy  that  I  have  failed 
to  notice  what  a  great  girl  you  are  getting?" 

"Busy!"  scoffed  Linda.  "Tell  that  to  Katy.  It's  a 
kumquat!" 

"Perhaps  you  are  too  big,"  continued  Eileen,  "to  be 
asked  to  wait  on  the  table  any  more." 

"I  certainly  am,"  retorted  Linda;  "and  I  am  also  too  big 
to  wear  such  shoes  or  such  a  dress  as  I  have  on  at  the  pres 
ent  minute.  I  know  all  about  the  war  and  the  inflation  of 
prices  and  the  reduction  in  income,  but  I  know  also  that 
if  there  is  enough  to  run  the  house,  and  dress  you,  and  fur 
nish  you  such  a  suite  of  rooms  as  you're  enjoying  right 


68      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

now,  that  there  is  enough  to  furnish  me  suitable  clothes,  a 
comfortable  bedroom  and  a  place  where  I  can  leave  my 
work  without  putting  away  everything  I  am  doing  each 
time  I  step  from  the  room.  I  told  you  four  years  ago  that 
you  might  take  the  touring  car  and  do  what  you  pleased 
with  it.  I  have  never  asked  what  you  did  or  what  you 
got  out  of  it,  so  I'll  thank  you  to  observe  equal 
silence  about  anything  I  choose  to  do  now  with  the  run 
about,  which  I  reserved  for  myself.  I  told  you  to  take 
this  suite,  and  this  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  ever  men 
tioned  to  you  what  you  spent  on  it." 

Linda  waved  an  inclusive  hand  toward  the  fully 
equipped,  dainty  dressing  table,  over  rugs  of  pale  blue,  and 
beautifully  decorated  walls,  including  the  sleeping  room 
and  bath  adjoining. 

"So  now  I'll  ask  you  to  keep  off  while  I  do  what  I  please 
about  the  library  and  the  billiard  room.  I'll  try  to  get 
along  without  much  money  in  doing  what  I  desire  there, 
but  I  must  have  some  new  clothes.  I  want  money  to  buy 
me  a  pair  of  new  shoes  for  school.  I  want  a  pair  of  pumps 
suitable  for  evenings  when  there  are  guests  to  dinner.  I 
want  a  couple  of  attractive  school  dresses.  This  old  serge 
is  getting  too  hot  and  too  worn  for  common  decency. 
And  I  also  want  a  couple  of  dresses  something  like  you  are 
wearing,  for  afternoons  and  evenings." 

Eileen  stared  aghast  at  Linda. 

"Where,"  she  inquired  politely,  "is  the  money  for  all 
this  to  come  from  ? " 

"Eileen,"  said  Linda  in  a  low  tense  voice,  "I  have 


THE  SMOKE  OF  BATTLE  69 

reached  the  place  where  even  the  boys  of  the  High  School 
are  twitting  me  about  how  I  am  dressed,  and  that  is  the 
limit.  I  have  stood  it  for  three  years  from  the  girls.  I 
am  an  adept  in  pretending  that  I  don't  see,  and  I  don't 
hear.  I  have  got  to  the  point  where  I  am  perfectly  capable 
of  walking  into  your  wardrobe  and  taking  out  enough  of 
the  clothes  there  and  selling  them  at  a  second-hand  store 
to  buy  me  what  I  require  to  dress  me  just  plainly  and 
decently.  So  take  warning.  I  don't  know  where  you  are 
going  to  get  the  money,  but  you  are  going  to  get  it.  If  you 
would  welcome  a  suggestion  from  me,  come  home  only  half 
the  times  you  dine  yourself  and  your  girl  friends  at  tea 
rooms  and  cafes  in  the  city,  and  you  will  save  my  share  that 
way.  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  chance  to  total  your  bud 
get,  and  then  I  demand  one  half  of  the  income  from 
Father's  estate  above  household  expenses;  and  if  I  don't 
get  it,  on  the  day  I  am  eighteen  I  shall  go  to  John  Oilman 
and  say  to  him  what  I  have  said  to  you,  and  I  shall  go 
to  the  bank  and  demand  that  a  division  be  made  there, 
and  that  a  separate  bank  book  be  started  for  me." 

Linda's  amazement  on  entering  the  room  had  been 
worthy  of  note.  Eileen's  at  the  present  minute  was 
beyond  description.  Dumbfounded  was  a  colourless  word 
to  describe  her  state  of  mind. 

"You  don't  mean  that,"  she  gasped  in  a  quivering  voice 
when  at  last  she  could  speak. 

"I  can  see,  Eileen,  that  you  are  taken  unawares,"  said 
Linda.  "I  have  had  four  long  years  to  work  up  to  this 
hour.  Hasn't  it  even  dawned  on  you  that  this  worm  was 


70      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ever  going  to  turn  ?  You  know  exquisite  moths  and  but 
terflies  evolve  in  the  canyons  from  very  unprepossessing 
and  lowly  living  worms.  You  are  spending  your  life  on 
the  butterfly  stunt.  Have  I  been  such  a  weak  worm  that 
it  hasn't  ever  occurred  to  you  that  I  might  want  to  try 
a  plain,  every-day  pair  of  wings  sometime  myself?" 

Eileen's  face  was  an  ugly  red,  her  hands  were  shaking, 
her  voice  was  unnatural,  but  she  controlled  her  temper. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  "I  have  always  known  that  the 
time  would  come,  after  you  finished  school  and  were  of  a 
proper  age,  when  you  would  want  to  enter  society." 

"No,  you  never  knew  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  Linda 
bluntly,  "because  I  have  not  the  slightest  ambition  to 
enter  society  either  now  or  then.  All  I  am  asking  is  to 
enter  the  High  School  in  a  commonly  decent,  suitable 
dress;  to  enter  our  dining  room  as  a  daughter;  to  enter  a 
workroom  decently  equipped  for  my  convenience.  You 
needn't  be  surprised  if  you  hear  some  changes  going  on 
in  the  billiard  room  and  see  some  changes  going  on  in  the 
library.  And  if  I  feel  that  I  can  muster  the  nerve  to  drive 
the  runabout,  it's  my  car,  it's  up  to  me." 

"Linda!"  wailed  Eileen,  "how  can  you  think  of  such  a 
thing?  You  wouldn't  dare." 

"Because  I  haven't  dared  till  the  present  is  no  reason 
why  I  should  deprive  myself  of  every  single  pleasure  in 
life,"  said  Linda.  "You  spend  your  days  doing  exactly 
what  you  please;  driving  that  runabout  for  Father  was  my 
one  soul-satisfying  diversion.  Why  shouldn't  I  do  the 
thing  I  love  most,  if  I  can  muster  the  nerve  ? " 


THE  SMOKE  OF  BATTLE  71 

Linda  arose,  and  walking  over  to  a  table,  picked  up  a 
magazine  lying  among  some  small  packages  that  Eileen 
evidently  had  placed  there  on  entering  her  room. 

"Are  you  subscribing  to  this?"  she  asked. 

She  turned  in  her  hands  and  leafed  through  the  pages  of 
a  most  attractive  magazine,  Everybody's  Home.  It  was 
devoted  to  poetry,  good  fiction,  and  everything  con 
cerning  home  life  from  beef  to  biscuits,  and  from  rugs 
to  roses. 

"I  saw  it  on  a  news-stand,"  said  Eileen.  "I  was  at 
lunch  with  some  girls  who  had  a  copy  and  they  were  talk 
ing  about  some  articles  by  somebody  named  something — 
Meredith,  I  think  it  was — Jane  Meredith,  maybe  she's  a 
Californian,  and  she  is  advocating  the  queer  idea  that  we 
go  back  to  nature  by  trying  modern  cooking  on  the  food 
the  aborigines  ate.  If  we  find  it  good  then  she  recom 
mends  that  we  specialize  on  the  growing  of  these  native 
vegetables  for  home  use  and  for  export — as  a  new  in 
dustry." 

"I  see,"  said  Linda.     "Out-Burbanking  Burbank,  as  it 


were." 


"No,  not  that,"  said  Eileen.  "She  is  not  proposing 
to  evolve  new  forms.  She  is  proposing  to  show  us  how  to 
make  delicious  dishes  for  luncheon  or  dinner  from  wild 
things  now  going  to  waste.  What  the  girls  said  was  so 
interesting  that  I  thought  I'd  get  a  copy  and  if  I  see  any 
thing  good  I'll  turn  it  over  to  Katy." 

"And  where  is  Katy  going  to  get  the  wild  vegetables ?'* 
asked  Linda  sceptically. 


72      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Why  you  might  have  some  of  them  in  your  wild  gar 
den,  or  you  could  easily  find  enough  to  try — all  the  prowl 
ing  the  canyons  you  do  ought  to  result  in  something." 

"So  it  should,"  said  Linda.  "I  quite  agree  with 
you.  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  I  should  be 
ready  to  go  to  the  bank  with  you  to  arrange  about  my 
income  next  week?" 

Again  the  colour  deepened  in  Eileen's  face,  again  she 
made  a  visible  effort  at  self-control. 

"Oh,  Linda,"  she  said,  "what  is  the  use  of  being  so 
hard?  You  will  make  them  think  at  the  bank  that  I 
have  not  treated  you  fairly." 

"/.?"  said  Linda,  "/  will  make  them  think?  Don't 
you  think  it  is  you  who  will  make  them  think?  Will  you 
kindly  answer  my  question?" 

"If  I  show  you  the  books,"  said  Eileen,  "if  I  divide 
what  is  left  after  the  bills  are  paid  so  that  you  say  yourself 
that  it  is  fair,  what  more  can  you  ask?" 

Linda  hesitated. 

"What  I  ought  to  do  is  exactly  what  I  have  said  I  would 
do,"  she  said  tersely,  "but  if  you  are  going  to  put  it  on 
that  basis  I  have  no  desire  to  hurt  you  or  humiliate  you  in 
public.  If  you  do  that,  I  can't  see  that  I  have  any 
reason  to  complain,  so  we'll  call  it  a  bargain  and  we'll 
say  no  more  about  it  until  the  first  of  the  month,  unless 
the  spirit  moves  you,  after  taking  a  good  square  look  at 
me,  to  produce  some  shoes  and  a  school  dress  instanter." 

"I'll  see  what  I  can  do,"  answered  Eileen. 

"All  right  then,"  said  Linda.     "See  you  at  dinner." 


THE  SMOKE  OF  BATTLE  73 

She  went  to  her  own  room,  slipped  off  her  school  dress, 
brushed  her  hair,  and  put  on  the  skirt  and  blouse  she  had 
worn  the  previous  evening,  these  being  the  only  extra 
clothing  she  possessed.  As  che  straightened  her  hair  she 
looked  at  herself  intently. 

"My,  aren't  you  coming  on!"  she  said  to  the  figure  in 
the  glass.  "Dressing  for  dinner!  First  thing  you  know 
you'll  be  a  perfect  lady." 


CHAPTER  VI 
JANE  MEREDITH 

WHEN  Eileen  came  down  to  dinner  that  evening 
Linda  understood  at  a  glance  that  an  effort 
was  to  be  made  to  efface  thoroughly  from  the 
mind  of  John  Oilman  all  memory  of  the  Eileen  of  the 
previous  evening.  She  had  decided  on  redressing  her 
hair,  while  she  wore  one  of  her  most  becoming  and  at 
tractive  gowns.  To  Linda  and  Katy  during  the  dinner 
she  was  simply  charming.  Having  said  what  she  wanted 
to  say  and  received  the  assurance  she  desired,  Linda 
accepted  her  advances  cordially  and  displayed  such 
charming  proclivities  herself  that  Eileen  began  covertly 
to  watch  her,  and  as  she  watched  there  slowly  grew  in  her 
brain  the  conviction  that  something  had  happened  to 
Linda.  At  once  she  began  studying  deeply  in  an  effort 
to  learn  what  it  might  be.  There  were  three  paramount 
things  in  Eileen's  cosmos  that  could  happen  to  a  girl: 
She  could  have  lovely  clothing.  Linda  did  not  have  it. 
She  could  have  money  and  influential  friends.  Since 
Marian's  going  Linda  had  practically  no  friend;  she  was 
merely  acquainted  with  almost  everyone  living  in  Lilac 
Valley.  She  could  have  a  lover.  Linda  had  none.  But 
stay!  Eileen's  thought  halted  at  the  suggestion.  Maybe 

74 


JANE  MEREDITH  75 

she  had!  She  had  been  left  completely  to  her  own  devices 
when  she  was  not  wanted  about  the  house.  She  had  been 
mingling  with  hundreds  of  boys  and  girls  in  High  School. 
She  might  have  met  some  man  repeatedly  on  the  street 
cars,  going  to  and  from  school.  In  school  she  might 
have  attracted  the  son  of  some  wealthy  and  influential 
family;  which  was  the  only  kind  of  son  Eileen  chose  to 
consider  in  connection  with  Linda.  Through  Eileen's 
brain  ran  bits  of  the  conversation  of  the  previous  evening. 
She  recalled  that  the  men  she  had  intended  should  spend 
the  evening  waiting  on  her  and  paying  her  pretty  compli 
ments  had  spent  it  eating  like  hungry  men,  laughing  and 
jesting  with  Linda  and  Marian,  giving  every  evidence  of  a 
satisfaction  with  their  entertainment  that  never  had  been 
evinced  with  the  best  brand  of  attractions  she  had  to 
offer. 

Eileen  was  willing  to  concede  that  Marian  Thorne  nad 
been  a  beautiful  girl,  and  she  had  known,  previous  to  the 
disaster,  that  it  was  quite  as  likely  that  any  man  might 
admire  Marian's  flashing  dark  beauty  as  her  blonde  love 
liness.  Between  them  then  it  would  have  been  merely  a 
question  of  taste  on  the  part  of  the  man.  Since  Marian's 
dark  head  had  turned  ashen,  Eileen  had  simply  eliminated 
her  at  one  sweep.  That  white  hair  would  brand  Marian 
anywhere  as  an  old  woman.  Very  likely  no  man  ever 
would  want  to  marry  her.  Eileen  was  sure  she  would  not 
want  to  if  she  were  a  man.  No  wonder  John  Oilman  had 
ceased  to  be  attracted  by  a  girl's  face  with  a  grandmother 
setting. 


76      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

As  for  Linda,  Eileen  never  had  considered  her  at  all  ex 
cept  as  a  convenience  to  serve  her  own  purposes.  Last 
night  she  had  learned  that  Linda  had  a  brain,  that  she  had 
wit,  that  she  could  say  things  to  which  men  of  the  world 
listened  with  interest.  She  began  to  watch  Linda.  She 
appraised  with  deepest  envy  the  dark  hair  curling  natu 
rally  on  her  temples.  She  wondered  how  hair  that  curled 
naturally  could  be  so  thick  and  heavy,  and  she  thought 
what  a  crown  of  glory  would  adorn  Linda's  head  when  the 
day  came  to  coil  those  long  dark  braids  around  it  and 
fasten  them  with  flashing  pins.  She  drew  some  satisfac 
tion  from  the  sunburned  face  and  lean  figure  before  her, 
but  it  was  not  satisfaction  of  a  soul-sustaining  quality. 
There  was  beginning  to  be  something  disquieting  about 
Linda.  A  roundness  was  creeping  over  her  lean  frame;  a 
glow  was  beginning  to  colour  her  lips  and  cheek  bones;  a 
dewy  look  could  be  surprised  in  her  dark  eyes  occasion 
ally.  She  had  the  effect  of  a  creature  with  something 
yeasty  bottled  inside  it  that  was  beginning  to  ferment 
and  might  effervesce  at  any  minute.  Eileen  had  been 
so  surprised  the  previous  evening  and  again  before  dinner, 
that  she  made  up  her  mind  that  hereafter  one  might  ex 
pect  almost  anything  from  Linda.  She  would  no  longer 
follow  a  suggestion  unless  the  suggestion  accorded  with 
her  sense  of  right  and  justice.  It  was  barely  possible 
that  it  might  be  required  to  please  her  inclinations. 
Eileen's  mind  worked  with  unbelievable  swiftness.  She 
tore  at  her  subject  like  a  vulture  tearing  at  a  feast,  and 
like  a  vulture  she  reached  the  vitals  swiftly.  She  prefaced 


JANE  MEREDITH  77 

her  question  with  a  dry  laugh.  Then  she  leaned  forward 
and  asked  softly:  "Linda,  dear,  why  haven't  you  told 
me?" 

Linda's  eyes  were  so  clear  and  honest  as  they  met 
Eileen's  that  she  almost  hesitated. 

"A  little  more  explicit,  please,"  said  the  girl  quietly. 

"fFho  is  he?"  asked  Eileen  abruptly. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  narrowed  to  an  individual,"  said  Linda 
largely.  "You  have  noticed  a  flock  of  boys  following  me 
from  school  and  hanging  around  the  front  door?  I  have 
such  hosts  to  choose  from  that  it's  going  to  take  a  particu 
larly  splendid  knight  on  a  snow-white  charger — I  think 
'charger'  is  the  proper  word — to  capture  my  young  affec 


tions." 


Eileen  was  satisfied.  There  wasn't  any  he.  She  might 
for  a  short  time  yet  cut  Linda's  finances  to  the  extreme 
limit.  Whenever  a  man  appeared  on  the  horizon  she 
would  be  forced  to  make  a  division  at  least  approaching 
equality. 

Linda  followed  Eileen  to  the  living  room  and  sat  down 
with  a  book  until  John  Oilman  arrived.  She  had  a  desire 
to  study  him  for  a  few  minutes.  She  was  going  to 
write  Marian  a  letter  that  night.  She  wanted  to  know 
if  she  could  honestly  tell  her  that  Oilman  appeared 
lonely  and  seemed  to  miss  her.  Katy  had  no  chance  to 
answer  the  bell  when  it  rang.  Eileen  was  in  the  hall. 
Linda  could  not  tell  what  was  happening  from  the  mur 
mur  of  voices.  Presently  John  and  Eileen  entered  the 
room,  and  as  Linda  greeted  him  she  did  have  the  im- 


78      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

pression  that  he  appeared  unusually  thoughtful  and 
worried.  She  sat  for  half  an  hour,  taking  slight  part  in 
the  conversation.  Then  she  excused  herself  and  went  to 
her  room,  and  as  she  went  she  knew  that  she  could  not 
honestly  write  Marian  what  she  had  hoped,  for  in  thirty 
minutes  by  the  clock  Eileen's  blandishments  had  worked, 
and  John  Oilman  was  looking  at  her  as  if  she  were  the 
most  exquisite  and  desirable  creature  in  existence. 

Slowly  Linda  climbed  the  stairs  and  entered  her  room. 
She  slid  the  bolt  of  her  door  behind  her,  turned  on  the 
lights,  unlocked  a  drawer,  and  taking  from  it  a  heap  of 
materials  she  scattered  them  over  a  small  table,  and 
picking  up  her  pencil,  she  sat  gazing  at  the  sheet  before 
her  for  some  time.  Then  slowly  she  began  writing: 

It  appeals  to  me  that,  far  as  modern  civilization  has  gone  in 
culinary  efforts,  we  have  not  nearly  reached  the  limits  available 
to  us  as  I  pointed  out  last  month.  We  consider  ourselves  capa 
ble  of  preparing  and  producing  elaborate  banquets,  yet  at  no 
time  are  we  approaching  anything  even  to  compare  in  lavishness 
and  delicacy  with  the  days  of  Lucullus.  We  are  not  feasting  on 
baked  swans,  peacock  tongues  and  drinking  our  pearls.  I  am 
not  recommending  that  we  should  revive  the  indulgence  of  such 
lavish  and  useless  expenditure,  but  I  would  suggest  that  if  we  tire 
with  the  sameness  of  our  culinary  efforts,  we  at  least  try  some  of 
the  new  dishes  described  in  this  department,  established  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  their  introduction.  In  so  doing  we  accomplish 
a  multiple  purpose.  We  enlarge  the  resources  of  the  southwest. 
We  tease  stale  appetites  with  a  new  tang.  We  offer  the  world 
something  different,  yet  native  to  us.  We  use  modern  methods 
an  Indian  material  apd  the  results  are  most  surprising.  In 


JANE  MEREDITH  79 

trying  these  dishes  I  would  remind  you  that  few  of  us  cared 
for  oysters,  olives,  celery — almost  any  fruit  or  vegetable  one 
could  mention  on  first  trial.  Try  several  times  and  be  sure  you 
prepare  dishes  exactly  right  before  condemning  them  as  either 
fad  or  fancy.  These  are  very  real,  nourishing  and  delicious  foods 
that  are  being  offered  you.  Here  is  a  salad  that  would  have 
intrigued  the  palate  of  Lucullus,  himself.  If  you  do  not  believe 
me,  try  it.  The  vegetable  is  slightly  known  by  a  few  native 
mountaineers  and  ranchers.  Botanists  carried  it  abroad  where 
under  the  name  of  winter-purslane  it  is  used  in  France  and 
England  for  greens  or  salad,  while  remaining  practically  un 
known  at  home.  Boiled  and  seasoned  as  spinach  it  makes 
equally  good  greens.  But  it  is  in  salad  that  it  stands  pre 
eminent. 

Go  to  any  canyon — I  shall  not  reveal  the  name  of  my  par 
ticular  canyon — and  locate  a  bed  of  Miner's  Lettuce  (Montia 
perfoliata).  Growing  in  rank  beds  beside  a  cold,  clean  stream, 
you  will  find  these  pulpy,  exquisitely  shaped,  pungent  round 
leaves  from  the  centre  of  which  lifts  a  tiny  head  of  misty  white 
lace,  sending  up  a  palate-teasing,  spicy  perfume.  The  crisp, 
pinkish  stems  snap  in  the  fingers.  Be  sure  that  you  wash  the 
leaves  carefully  so  that  no  lurking  germs  cling  to  them.  Fill 
your  salad  bowl  with  the  crisp  leaves,  from  which  the  flowerhead 
has  been  plucked.  For  dressing,  dice  a  teacup  of  the  most 
delicious  bacon  you  can  obtain  and  fry  it  to  a  crisp  brown,  to 
gether  with  a  small  sliced  onion.  Add  to  the  fat  two  tablespoons 
of  sugar,  half  a  teaspoon  of  mustard;  salt  will  scarcely  be  neces 
sary,  the  bacon  will  furnish  that.  Blend  the  fat,  sugar,  and 
mustard,  and  pour  in  a  measure  of  the  best  apple  vinegar,  diluted 
to  taste.  Bring  this  mixture  to  the  boiling  point,  and  when  it 
has  cooled  slightly  pour  it  over  the  lettuce  leaves,  lightly  turning 
with  a  silver  fork.  Garnish  the  edge  of  the  dish  with  a  deep 
border  of  the  fresh  leaves,  bearing  their  lace  of  white  bloom  in- 


8o      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

tact,  around  the  edge  of  the  bowl,  and  sprinkle  on  top  the  sifted 
yolks  of  two  hard-boiled  eggs,  heaping  the  diced  whites  in  the 
centre. 


Linda  paused  and  read  this  over  carefully. 

"That  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "I  couldn't  make  that 
much  better." 

She  made  a  few  corrections  here  and  there,  and  picking 
up  a  coloured  pencil,  she  deftly  sketched  in  a  head  piece 
of  delicate  sprays  of  miners'  lettuce  tipped  at  differing 
angles,  fringy  white  with  bloom.  Below  she  printed: 
"A  delicious  Indian  salad.  The  second  of  a  series  of  new 
dishes  to  be  offered  made  from  materials  used  by  the 
Indians.  Compounded  and  tested  in  her  own  diet  kitchen 
by  the  author."  Swiftly  she  sketched  a  tail  piece  repre 
senting  a  table  top  upon  which  sat  a  tempting-looking 
big  salad  bowl  filled  with  fresh  green  leaves,  rimmed  with 
a  row  of  delicate  white  flowers,  from  which  you  could 
almost  scent  a  teasing,  delicate  fragrance  arising;  and 
beneath,  in  a  clear,  firm  hand,  she  stroked  in  the  name, 
Jane  Meredith.  She  went  over  her  work  carefully,  then 
laid  it  flat  on  a  piece  of  cardboard,  shoved  it  into  an  en 
velope,  directed  it  to  the  editor  of  Everybody's  Home,  laid 
it  inside  her  geometry,  and  wrote  her  letter  to  Marian  be 
fore  going  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  on  her  way  to  the  street  car  she  gaily 
waved  to  a  passing  automobile  going  down  Lilac  Valley, 
in  which  sat  John  Gilman  and  Peter  Morrison  and  his 
architect,  and  as  they  were  driving  in  the  direction  from 


JANE  MEREDITH  8r 

which  she  had  come,  Linda  very  rightly  surmised  that 
they  were  going  to  pick  up  Eileen  and  make  a  tour  of  the 
valley,  looking  for  available  building  locations;  and  she 
wondered  why  Eileen  had  not  told  her  that  they  were 
coming.  Linda  had  been  right  about  the  destination  of 
the  car.  It  turned  in  at  the  Strong  driveway  and  stopped 
at  the  door.  John  Oilman  went  to  ring  the  bell  and  learn 
if  Eileen  were  ready.  Peter  followed  him.  Henry  Ander 
son  stepped  from  the  car  and  wandered  over  the  lawn, 
looking  at  the  astonishing  array  of  bushes,  vines,  flowers, 
and  trees. 

From  one  to  another  he  went,  fingering  the  waxy 
leaves,  studying  the  brilliant  flower  faces.  Finally  turn 
ing  a  corner  and  crossing  the  wild  garden,  to  which  he 
paid  slight  attention,  he  started  down  the  other  side  of 
the  house.  Here  an  almost  overpowering  odour  greeted 
his  nostrils,  and  he  went  over  to  a  large  tree  covered  with 
rough,  dark  green,  almost  brownish,  lance-shaped  leaves, 
each  branch  terminating  in  a  heavy  spray  of  yellowish- 
green  flowers,  whose  odour  was  of  cloying  sweetness.  The 
bees  were  buzzing  over  it.  It  was  not  a  tree  with  which 
he  was  familiar,  and  stepping  back,  he  looked  at  it  care 
fully.  Then  at  its  base,  wind-driven  into  a  crevice 
between  the  roots,  his  attention  was  attracted  to  a  crum 
pled  sheet  of  paper,  upon  which  he  could  see  lines  that 
would  have  attracted  the  attention  of  any  architect.  He 
went  forward  instantly,  picked  up  the  sheet,  and  straight 
ening  it  out  he  stood  looking  at  it. 

"Holy  smoke!"  he  breathed  softly.    "What  a  find!" 


82      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

He  looked  at  the  reverse  of  the  sheet,  his  face  becoming 
more  intent  every  minute.  When  he  heard  Peter  Morri 
son's  voice  calling  him  he  hastily  thrust  the  paper  into  his 
coat  pocket;  but  he  had  gone  only  a  few  steps  when  he 
stopped,  glanced  keenly  over  the  house  and  lawn,  turned 
his  back,  and  taking  the  sheet  from  his  pocket,  he 
smoothed  it  out,  folded  it  carefully,  and  put  it  in  an  inside 
pocket.  Then  he  joined  the  party. 

At  once  they  set  out  to  examine  the  available  loca 
tions  that  yet  remained  in  Lilac  Valley.  Nature  provided 
them  a  wonderful  day  of  snappy  sunshine  and  heady  sea 
air.  Spring  favoured  them  with  lilac  walls  at  their  bluest, 
broken  here  and  there  with  the  rose-misted  white  mahog 
any.  The  violet  nightshade  was  beginning  to  add  deeper 
colour  to  the  hills  in  the  sunniest  wild  spots.  The  panicles 
of  mahonia  bloom  were  showing  their  gold  colour.  Wild 
flowers  were  lifting  leaves  of  feather  and  lace  everywhere, 
and  most  agreeable  on  the  cool  morning  air  was  a  faint 
breath  of  California  sage.  Up  one  side  of  the  valley, 
weaving  in  and  out,  up  and  down,  over  the  foothills 
they  worked  their  way.  They  stopped  for  dinner  at  one 
of  the  beautiful  big  hotels,  practically  filled  with  Eastern 
tourists.  Eileen  never  had  known  a  prouder  moment  than 
when  she  took  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  table  and 
presided  over  the  dinner  which  was  served  to  three  most 
attractive  specimens  of  physical  manhood,  each  of  whom 
was  unusually  well  endowed  with  brain,  all  flattering 
her  with  the  most  devoted  attention.  This  triumph  she 
achieved  in  a  dining  room  seating  hundreds  of  people,  its 


JANE  MEREDITH  83 

mirror-lined  walls  reflecting  her  exquisite  image  from  many 
angles,  to  the  click  of  silver,  and  the  running  accompani 
ment  of  many  voices.  What  she  had  expected  to  accom 
plish  in  her  own  dining  room  had  come  to  her  before  a  large 
audience,  in  which,  she  had  no  doubt,  there  were  many 
envious  women.  Eileen  rayed  loveliness  like  a  Mariposa 
lily,  and  purred  in  utter  contentment  like  a  deftly  stroked 
kitten. 

When  they  parted  in  the  evening  Peter  Morrison  had 
memoranda  of  three  locations  that  he  wished  to  con 
sider.  That  he  might  not  seem  to  be  unduly  influenced 
or  to  be  giving  the  remainder  of  Los  Angeles  County  its 
just  due,  he  proposed  to  motor  around  for  a  week  before 
reaching  an  ultimate  decision,  but  in  his  heart  he  already 
had  decided  that  somewhere  near  Los  Angeles  he  would 
build  his  home,  and  as  yet  he  had  seen  nothing  nearly  so 
attractive  as  Lilac  Valley. 


CHAPTER  VII 
TRYING  YUCCA 

ON  HER  way  to  school  that  morning  Linda  stopped 
at  the  post  office  and  pasted  the  required  amount 
of  stamps  upon  the  package  that  she  was  mailing 
to  New  York.  She  hurried  from  her  last  class  that  after 
noon  to  the  city  directory  to  find  the  street  and  number  of 
James  Brothers,  figuring  that  the  firm  with  whom  Marian 
dealt  would  be  the  proper  people  for  her  to  consult.  She 
had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  place  for  which  she  was 
searching,  and  she  was  rather  agreeably  impressed  with 
the  men  to  whom  she  talked.  She  made  arrangements 
with  their  buyer  to  call  at  her  home  in  Lilac  Valley  at 
nine  o'clock  the  following  Saturday  morning  to  appraise 
the  articles  with  which  she  wished  to  part. 

Then  she  went  to  one  of  the  leading  book  stores  of  the 
city  and  made  inquiries  which  guided  her  to  a  reliable 
second-hand  book  dealer,  and  she  arranged  to  be  ready  to 
receive  his  representative  at  ten  o'clock  on  Saturday. 

Reaching  home  she  took  a  note  book  and  pencil,  and 
studied  the  billiard  room  and  the  library,  making  a  list  of 
the  furniture  which  she  did  not  actually  need.  After 
that  she  began  on  the  library  shelves,  listing  such  medical 
works  as  were  of  a  technical  nature.  Books  of  fiction, 

84 


TRYING  YUCCA  8s 

history,  art,  and  biography,  and  those  books  written  by 
her  father  she  did  not  include.  She  found  that  she  had  a. 
long  task  which  would  occupy  several  evenings.  Her  mindl 
was  methodical  and  she  had  been  with  her  father  through 
sufficient  business  transactions  to  understand  that  in  order 
to  drive  a  good  bargain  she  must  know  how  many  volumes 
she  had  to  offer  and  the  importance  of  their  authors  as 
medical  authorities;  she  should  also  know  the  exact 
condition  of  each  set  of  books.  Since  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  let  them  go,  and  she  knew  the  value  of  many 
of  the  big,  leather-bound  volumes,  she  determined  that 
she  would  not  sell  them  until  she  could  secure  the  highest 
possible  price  for  them. 

Two  months  previously  she  would  have  consulted 
John  Gilman  and  asked  him  to  arrange  the  transaction  for 
her.  Since  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  duped  so  easily- — 
or  at  least  it  had  seemed  easy  to  Linda;  for,  much  as  she 
knew  of  Eileen,  she  could  not  possibly  know  the  weeks 
of  secret  plotting,  the  plans  for  unexpected  meetings,  the 
trumped-up  business  problems  necessary  to  discuss,  the 
deliberate  flaunting  of  her  physical  charms  before  him,  all 
of  which  had  made  his  conquest  extremely  hard  for 
Eileen,  but  Linda,  seeing  only  results,  had  thought  it 
contemptibly  easy- — she  would  not  ask  John  Gilman 
anything.  She  would  go  ahead  on  the  basis  of  her  agree 
ment  with  Eileen  and  do  the  best  she  could  alone. 

She  counted  on  Saturday  to  dispose  of  the  furniture. 
The  books  might  go  at  her  leisure.  Then  the  first  of  the 
week  she  could  select  such  furniture  as  she  desired  in 


86      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

order  to  arrange  the  billiard  room  for  her  study.  If  she 
had  a  suitable  place  in  which  to  work  in  seclusion,  there 
need  be  no  hurry  about  the  library.  She  conscientiously 
prepared  all  the  lessons  required  in  her  school  course  for  the 
next  day  and  then,  stacking  her  books,  she  again  unlocked 
the  drawer  opened  the  previous  evening,  and  taking  from 
it  the  same  materials,  set  to  work.  She  wrote: 

Botanists  have  failed  to  mention  that  there  is  any  connection 
between  asparagus,  originally  a  product  of  salt  marshes,  and 
Yucca,  a  product  of  the  alkaline  desert.  Very  probably  there 
is  no  botanical  relationship,  but  these  two  plants  are  alike  in 
flavour.  From  the  alkaline,  sunbeaten  desert  where  the  bayonet 
plant  thrusts  up  a  tender  bloom  head  six  inches  in  height,  itslowly 
increases  in  stature  as  it  travels  across  country  more  frequently 
rain  washed,  and  winds  its  way  beside  mountain  streams  to  where 
in  more  fertile  soil  and  the  same  sunshine  it  develops  magnificent 
specimens  from  ten  to  fifteen  and  more  feet  in  height.  The 
plant  grows  a  number  of  years  before  it  decides  to  flower.  When 
it  reaches  maturity  it  throws  up  a  bloom  stem  as  tender  as  the 
delicate  head  of  asparagus,  thick  as  one's  upper  arm,  and  run 
ning  to  twice  one's  height.  This  bloom  stem  in  its  early  stages 
is  coloured  the  pale  pink  of  asparagus,  with  faint  touches  of 
yellow,  and  hints  of  blue.  At  maturity  it  breaks  into  a  gorgeous 
head  of  lavender-tinted,  creamy  pendent  flowers  covering  the 
upper  third  of  its  height,  billowing  out  slightly  in  the  centre, 
so  that  from  a  distance  the  waxen  torch  takes  on  very  much  the 
appearance  of  a  flaming  candle.  For  this  reason,  in  Mexico, 
where  the  plant  flourishes  in  even  greater  abundance  than  in 
California,  with  the  exquisite  poetry  common  to  the  tongue  and 
heart  of  the  Spaniard,  Yucca  Whipplei  has  been  commonly 
named  "Our  Lord's  Candle."  At  the  most  delicate  time  of  their 
growth  these  candlesticks  were  roasted  and  eaten  by  the  Indians. 


TRYING  YUCCA  87 

Based  upon  this  knowledge,  I  would  recommend  two  dishes, 
almost  equally  delicious,  which  may  be  prepared  from  this  plant. 

Take  the  most  succulent  young  bloom  stems  when  they  have 
exactly  the  appearance  of  an  asparagus  head  at  its  moment  of 
delicious  perfection.  With  a  sharp  knife,  cut  them  in  circles  an 
inch  in  depth.  Arrange  these  in  a  shallow  porcelain  baking 
dish,  sprinkle  with  salt,  dot  them  with  butter,  add  enough  water 
to  keep  them  from  sticking  and  burning.  Bake  until  thoroughly 
tender.  Use  a  pancake  turner  to  slide  the  rings  to  a  hot  platter, 
and  garnish  with  circles  of  hard-boiled  egg.  This  you  will  find 
an  extremely  delicate  and  appetizing  dish. 

The  second  recipe  I  would  offer  is  to  treat  this  vegetable  pre 
cisely  as  you  would  creamed  asparagus.  Cut  the  stalks  in 
six-inch  lengths,  quarter  them  to  facilitate  cooking  and  han 
dling,  and  boil  in  salted  water.  Drain,  arrange  in  a  hot  dish, 
and  pour  over  a  carefully  made  cream  sauce.  I  might  add 
that  one  stalk  would  furnish  sufficient  material  for  several 
families.  This  dish  should  be  popular  in  southwestern  states 
where  the  plant  grows  profusely;  and  to  cultivate  these  plants 
for  shipping  to  Eastern  markets  would  be  quite  as  feasible  as 
the  shipping  of  asparagus,  rhubarb,  artichokes,  or  lettuce. 

I  have  found  both  these  dishes  peculiarly  appetizing,  but  I 
should  be  sorry  if,  in  introducing  Yucca  as  a  food,  I  became  in 
strumental  in  the  extermination  of  this  universal  and  wonder 
fully  beautiful  plant.  For  this  reason  I  have  hesitated  about 
including  Yucca  among  these  articles;  but  when  I  see  the  bloom 
destroyed  ruthlessly  by  thousands  who  cut  it  to  decorate  touring 
automobiles  and  fruit  and  vegetable  stands  beside  the  highways, 
who  carry  it  from  its  native  location  and  stick  it  in  the  parching 
sun  of  the  seashore  as  a  temporary  shelter,  I  feel  that  the  bloom 
stems  might  as  well  be  used  for  food  as  to  be  so  ruthlessly 
wasted. 

The  plant  is  hardy  in  the  extreme,  growing  in  the  most  un 
favourable  places,  clinging  tenaciously  to  sheer  mountain  and 


88  'HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

canyon  walls.  After  blooming  and  seeding  the  plant  seems  to 
have  thrown  every  particle  of  nourishment  it  contains  into  its 
development,  it  dries  out  and  dies  (the  spongy  wood  is  made 
into  pin-cushions  for  the  art  stores);  but  from  the  roots  there 
spring  a  number  of  young  plants,  which,  after  a  few  years  of 
growth,  mature  and  repeat  their  life  cycle,  while  other  young 
plants  develop  from  the  widely  scattered  seeds.  The  Spaniards 
at  times  call  the  plant  Quiota.  This  word  seems  to  be  derived 
from  quiotl,  which  is  the  Aztec  name  for  Agave,  from  which 
plant  a  drink  not  unlike  beer  is  produced,  and  suggests  the  pos 
sibility  that  there  might  have  been  a  time  when  the  succulent 
flower  stem  of  the  Yucca  furnished  drink  as  well  as  food  for  the 
Indians. 

After  carefully  re-reading  and  making  several  minor 
corrections,  Linda  picked  up  her  pencil,  and  across  the 
top  of  a  sheet  of  heavy  paper  sketched  the  peaks  of  a 
chain  of  mountains.  Across  the  base  she  drew  a  stretch 
of  desert  floor,  bristling  with  the  thorns  of  many  different 
cacti  brilliant  with  their  gold,  pink,  and  red  bloom,  inter 
mingled  with  fine  grasses  and  desert  flower  faces.  At  the 
left  she  painstakingly  drew  a  huge  plant  of  yucca  with  a 
perfect  circle  of  bayonets,  from  the  centre  of  which  uprose 
the  gigantic  flower  stem  the  length  of  her  page,  and  on 
the  misty  bloom  of  the  flaming  tongue  she  worked  quite 
as  late  as  Marian  Thorne  had  ever  seen  a  light  burning  in 
her  window.  When  she  had  finished  her  drawing  she 
studied  it  carefully  a  long  time,  adding  a  touch  here 
and  there,  and  then  she  said  softly:  "There,  Daddy,  I 
feel  that  even  you  would  think  that  a  faithful  reproduc 
tion.  To-morrow  night  I'll  paint  it." 


TRYING  YUCCA  89 

John  Gilman  saw  the  light  from  Linda's  window  when  he 
brought  Eileen  home  that  night,  and  when  he  left  he 
glanced  that  way  again,  and  was  surprised  to  see  the 
room  still  lighted,  and  the  young  figure  bending  over  a 
work  table.  He  stood  very  still  for  a  few  minutes,  wonder 
ing  what  could  keep  Linda  awake  so  far  into  the  night, 
and  while  his  thoughts  were  upon  her  he  wondered,  too, 
why  she  did  not  care  to  have  beautiful  clothes  such  as 
Eileen  wore;  and  then  he  went  further  and  wondered 
why,  when  she  could  be  as  entertaining  as  she  had  been 
the  night  she  joined  them  at  dinner,  she  did  not  make  her 
appearance  oftener;  and  then,  because  the  mind  is  a 
queer  thing,  and  he  had  wondered  about  a  given  state  of 
affairs,  he  went  a  step  further,  and  wondered  whether  the 
explanation  lay  in  Linda's  inclinations  or  in  Eileen's 
management,  and  then  his  thought  fastened  tenaciously 
upon  the  subject  of  Eileen's  management. 

He  was  a  patient  man.  He  had  allowed  his  reason 
and  better  judgment  to  be  swayed  by  Eileen's  exquisite 
beauty  and  her  blandishments.  He  did  not  regret  having 
discovered  before  it  was  too  late  that  Marian  Thorne  was 
not  the  girl  he  had  thought  her.  He  wanted  a  wife  cut 
after  the  clinging-vine  pattern.  He  wanted  to  be  the 
dominating  figure  in  his  home.  It  had  not  taken  Eileen 
long  to  teach  him  that  Marian  was  self-assertive  and 
would  do  a  large  share  of  dominating  herself.  He  had 
thought  that  he  was  perfectly  satisfied  and  very  happy 
with  Eileen;  yet  that  day  he  repeatedly  had  felt  piqued 
and  annoyed  with  her.  She  had  openly  cajoled  and 


90      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

flirted  with  Henry  Anderson  past  a  point  which  was 
agreeable  for  any  man  to  see  his  sweetheart  go  with 
another  man.  With  Peter  Morrison  she  had  been  un 
speakably  charming  in  a  manner  with  which  John  was 
very  familiar. 

He  turned  up  his  coat  collar,  thrust  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  swore  softly.  Looking  straight  ahead  of  him, 
he  should  have  seen  a  stretch  of  level  sidewalk,  bordered 
on  one  hand  by  lacy,  tropical  foliage,  on  the  other,  by 
sheets  of  level  green  lawn,  broken  everywhere  by  the  up 
rising  boles  of  great  trees,  clumps  of  rare  vines,  and  rows 
of  darkened  homes,  attractive  in  architectural  design,  vine 
covered,  hushed  for  the  night.  What  he  really  saw  was 
a  small  plateau,  sun  illumined,  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain 
across  the  valley,  where  the  lilac  wall  was  the  bluest,  where 
the  sun  shone  slightly  more  golden  than  anywhere  else  in 
the  valley,  where  huge  live  oaks  outstretched  rugged  arms, 
where  the  air  had  a  tang  of  salt,  a  tinge  of  sage,  an  odour  of 
orange,  shot  through  with  snowy  coolness,  thrilled  with 
bird  song,  and  the  laughing  chuckle  of  a  big  spring  break 
ing  from  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  They  had  left  the  road 
and  followed  a  narrow,  screened  path  by  which  they 
came  unexpectedly  into  this  opening.  They  had  stood 
upon  it  in  wordless  enchantment,  looking  down  the  slope 
beneath  it,  across  the  peace  of  the  valley,  to  the  blue  ranges 
beyond. 

"Just  where  are  we?"  Peter  Morrison  had  asked  at  last. 

John  Gilman  had  been  looking  at  a  view  which  included 
Eileen.  She  lifted  her  face,  flushed  and  exquisite,  to  Peter 


TRYING  YUCCA  91 

Morrison  and  answered  in  a  breathless  undertone,  yet 
John  had  distinctly  heard  her: 

"How  wonderful  it  would  be  if  we  were  at  your  house. 
Oh,  I  envy  the  woman  who  shares  this  with  you!" 

It  had  not  been  anything  in  particular,  yet  all  day  it 
had  teased  John  Oilman's  sensibilities.  He  felt  ashamed 
of  himself  for  not  being  more  enthusiastic  as  he  searched 
records  and  helped  to  locate  the  owner  of  that  particular 
spot.  To  John,  there  was  a  new  tone  in  Peter's  voice,  a 
possessive  light  in  his  eyes  as  he  studied  the  location,  and 
made  excursions  in  several  directions,  to  fix  in  his  mind 
the  exact  position  of  the  land. 

He  had  indicated  what  he  considered  the  topographical 
location  for  a  house — stood  on  it  facing  the  valley,  and 
stepped  the  distance  suitably  far  away  to  set  a  garage  and 
figured  on  a  short  private  road  down  to  the  highway.  He 
very  plainly  was  deeply  prepossessed  with  a  location  John 
Gilman  blamed  himself  for  not  having  found  first.  Cer 
tainly  nature  had  here  grown  and  walled  a  dream  garden 
in  which  to  set  a  house  of  dreams.  So,  past  midnight,  Gil 
man  stood  in  the  sunshine,  looking  at  the  face  of  the  girl 
he  had  asked  to  marry  him  and  who  had  said  that  she 
would;  and  a  small  doubt  crept  into  his  heart,  and  a  feeling 
that  perhaps  life  might  be  different  for  him  if  Peter  Morri 
son  decided  to  come  to  Lilac  Valley  to  build  his  home. 
Then  the  sunlight  faded,  night  closed  in,  but  as  he  went 
his  homeward  way  John  Gilman  was  thinking,  thinking 
deeply  and  not  at  all  happily. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  BEAR-CAT 

"Friday's  child  is  loving  and  giving, 
But  Saturday's  child  must  work  for  a  living," 

E)A  was  chanting  happily  as  she  entered  the  kitchen 
early  Saturday  morning. 
"Katy,  me  blessing,"  she  said  gaily,  "did  I  ever 
point  out  to  you  the  interesting  fact  that  I  was  born  on 
Saturday?    And  a  de'ilish  piece  of  luck  it  was,  for  I  have 
been  hustling  ever  since.     It's  bad  enough  to  have  been 
born  on  Monday  and  spoiled  wash  day,  but  I  call  Saturday 
the  vanishing  point,  the  end  of  the  extreme  limit." 

Katy  laughed,  and,  as  always,  turned  adoring  eyes  on 
Linda. 

"I  am  not  needing  ye,  lambie,"  she  said.  "Is  it  big 
business  in  the  canyon  ye're  having  to-day?  Shall  I  be 
ready  to  be  cooking  up  one  of  them  God-forsaken  Red 
Indian  messes  for  ye  when  ye  come  back?" 

Linda  held  up  a  warning  finger. 

"Hist,  Katy,"  she  said.  "That  is  a  dark  secret.  Don't 
you  be  forgetting  yourself  and  saying  anything  like  that 
before  any  one,  or  I  would  be  ruined  entirely." 

"Well,  I  did  think  when  ye  began  it,"  said  Katy,  "that 

92 


THE  BEAR-CAT  93 

of  all  the  wild  foolishness  ye  and  your  pa  had  ever  gone 
through  with,  that  was  the  worst,  but  that  last  mess  ye 
worked  out  was  so  tasty  to  the  tongue  that  I  thought  of 
it  a  lot,  and  I'm  kind  oj  hankering  for  more." 

Linda  caught  Katy  and  swung  her  around  the  kitchen 
in  a  wild  war  dance.  Her  gayest  laugh  bubbled  clear  from 
the  joy  peak  of  her  soul. 

"Katy,"  she  said,  "if  you  had  lain  awake  all  night  trying 
to  say  something  that  would  particularly  please  me,  you 
couldn't  have  done  better.  That  was  a  quaint  little  phrase 
and  a  true  little  phrase,  and  I  know  a  little  spot  that  it  will 
fit  exactly.  What  am  I  doing  the  day?  Well,  several 
things,  Katy.  First,  anything  you  need  about  the  house. 
Next,  I  am  going  to  empty  the  billiard  room  and  sell  some 
of  the  excess  furniture  of  the  library,  and  with  the  returns 
I  am  going  to  buy  me  a  rug  and  a  table  and  some  tools  to 
work  with,  so  I  won't  have  to  clutter  up  my  bedroom  with 
my  lessons  and  things  I  bring  in  that  I  want  to  save.  And 
then  I  am  going  to  sell  the  technical  stuff  from  the  library 
and  use  that  money  where  it  will  be  of  greatest  advantage 
to  me.  And  then,  Katy,  I  am  going  to  manicure  the 
Bear-cat  and  I  am  going  to  drive  it  again." 

Linda  hesitated.  Katy  stood  very  still,  thinking  in 
tently,  but  finally  she  said:  "That's  all  right;  ye  have 
got  good  common  sense;  your  nerves  are  steady;  your  pa 
drilled  ye  fine.  Many's  the  time  he  has  bragged  to  me 
behind  your  back  what  a  fine  little  driver  he  was  making  of 
ye.  I  don't  know  a  girl  of  your  age  anywhere  that  has  less 
enjoyment  than  ye.  If  it  would  be  giving  ye  any  happi- 


94      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ness  to  be  driving  that  car,  ye  just  go  ahead  and  drive  it, 
lambie,  but  ye  promise  me  here  and  now  that  ye  will  be 
mortal  careful.  In  all  my  days  I  don't  think  I  have  seen 
a  meaner  looking  little  baste  of  a  car." 

"  Of  course  I'll  be  careful,  Katy,"  said  Linda.  "That  car 
was  not  bought  for  its  beauty.  Its  primal  object  in  this 
world  was  to  arrive.  Gee,  how  we  shot  curves,  and  coasted 
down  the  canyons,  and  gassed  up  on  the  level  when  some 
poor  soul  went  batty  from  nerve  strain!  The  truth  is, 
Katy,  that  you  can't  drive  very  slowly.  You  have  got  to 
go  the  speed  for  which  it  was  built.  But  I  have  had  my 
training.  I  won't  forget.  I  adore  that  car,  Katy,  and  I 
don't  know  how  I  have  ever  kept  my  fingers  off  it  this  long. 
To-day  it  gets  a  bath  and  a  facial  treatment,  and  when  I 
have  thought  up  some  way  to  meet  my  big  problem,  you're 
going  to  have  a  ride,  Katy,  that  will  quite  uplift  your  soul. 
We'll  go  scooting  through  the  canyons,  and  whizzing 
around  the  mountains,  and  roaring  along  the  beach,  as 
slick  as  a  white  sea  swallow." 

"Now,  easy,  lambie,  easy,"  said  Katy.  "Ye're  plan 
ning  to  speed  that  thing  before  ye've  got  it  off  the  jacks." 

"No,  that  was  mere  talk,"  said  Linda.  "But,  Katy, 
this  is  my  great  day.  I  feel  in  my  bones  that  I  shall  have 
enough  money  by  night  to  get  me  some  new  tires,  which  I 
must  have  before  I  can  start  out  in  safety." 

"Of  course  ye  must,  honey.  I  would  just  be  tickled  to 
pieces  to  let  ye  have  what  ye  need." 

Linda  slid  her  hand  across  Katy's  lips  and  gathered  her 
close  in  her  arms. 


THE  BEAR-CAT  95 

"You  blessed  old  darling,"  she  said.  "Of  course  you 
would,  but  I  don't  need  it,  Katy.  I  can  sit  on  the  floor 
to  work,  if  I  must,  and  instead  of  taking  the  money  from 
the  billiard  table  to  buy  a  work  table,  I  can  buy  tires  with 
that.  But  here's  another  thing  I  want  to  tell  you,  Katy. 
This  afternoon  a  male  biped  is  coming  to  this  house, 
and  he's  not  coming  to  see  Eileen.  His  name  is  Donald 
Whiting,  and  when  he  tells  you  it  is,  and  stands  very 
straight  and  takes  off  his  hat,  and  looks  you  in  the  eye 
and  says,  'Calling  on  Miss  Linda  Strong,'  walk  him  into 
the  living  room,  Katy,  and  seat  him  in  the  best  chair  and 
put  a  book  beside  him  and  the  morning  paper;  and  don't 
you  forget  to  do  it  with  a  flourish.  He  is  nothing  but 
a  high-school  kid,  but  he's  the  first  boy  that  ever  in  all 
my  days  asked  to  come  to  see  me  so  it's  a  big  event; 
and  I  wish  to  my  soul  I  had  something  decent  to 


wear." 


"Well,  with  all  the  clothes  in  this  house,"  said  Katy; 
and  then  she  stopped  and  shut  her  lips  tight  and  looked  at 
Linda  with  belligerent  Irish  eyes. 

"I  know  it,"  nodded  Linda  in  acquiescence;  "I  know 
what  you  think;  but  never  mind.  Eileen  has  agreed  to 
make  me  a  fair  allowance  the  first  of  the  month,  and  if  that 
isn't  sufficient,  I  may  possibly  figure  up  some  way  to  do 
some  extra  work  that  will  bring  me  a  few  honest  pen 
nies,  so  I  can  fuss  up  enough  to  look  feminine  at  times, 
Katy.  In  the  meantime,  farewell,  oh,  my  belovedest. 
Call  me  at  half-past  eight,  so  I  will  be  ready  for  business 


at  nine." 


96      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Then  Linda  went  to  the  garage  and  began  operations. 
She  turned  the  hose  on  the  car  and  washed  the  dust  from 
it  carefully.  Then  she  dried  it  with  the  chamois  skins  as 
she  often  had  done  before.  She  carefully  examined  the 
cushioning,  and  finding  it  dry  and  hard,  she  gave  it  a  bath 
of  olive  oil  and  wiped  and  manipulated  it.  She  cleaned 
the  engine  with  extreme  care.  At  one  minute  she  was 
running  to  Katy  for  kerosene  to  pour  through  the  engine  to 
loosen  the  carbon.  At  another  she  was  telephoning  for  the 
delivery  of  oil,  gasolene,  and  batteries  for  which  she  had  no 
money  to  pay,  so  she  charged  them  to  Eileen,  ordering  the 
bill  to  be  sent  on  the  first  of  the  month.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  only  a  good  start  when  Katy  came  after  her. 

The  business  of  appraising  the  furniture  was  short,  and 
Linda  was  well  satisfied  with  the  price  she  was  offered  for 
it.  After  the  man  had  gone  she  showed  Katy  the  pieces 
she  had  marked  to  dispose  of,  and  told  her  when  they  would 
be  called  for.  She  ate  a  few  bites  of  lunch  while  waiting 
for  the  book  man,  and  the  results  of  her  business  with  him 
quite  delighted  Linda.  She  had  not  known  that  the  value 
of  books  had  risen  with  the  price  of  everything  else.  The 
man  with  whom  she  dealt  had  known  her  father.  He 
had  appreciated  the  strain  in  her  nature  which  made  her 
suggest  that  he  should  number  and  appraise  the  books, 
but  she  must  be  allowed  time  to  go  through  each  volume 
in  order  to  remove  any  scraps  of  paper  or  memoranda 
which  her  father  so  frequently  left  in  books  to  which  he 
was  referring.  He  had  figured  carefully  and  he  had  made 
Linda  a  far  higher  price  than  could  have  been  secured  by 


THE  BEAR-CAT  97 

a  man.  As  the  girl  went  back  to  her  absorbing  task  in  the 
garage,  she  could  see  her  way  clear  to  the  comforts  and  con 
veniences  and  the  material  that  she  needed  for  her  work. 
When  she  reached  the  car  she  patted  it  as  if  it  had  been  a 
living  creature. 

"Cheer  up,  nice  old  thing,"  she  said  gaily.  "I  know 
how  to  get  new  tires  for  you,  and  you  shall  drink  all  the 
gasolene  and  oil  your  tummy  can  hold.  Now  let  me 
see.  What  must  I  do  next?  I  must  get  you  off  your 
jacks;  and  oh,  my  gracious!  there  are  the  grease  cups,  and 
that's  a  nasty  job,  but  it  must  be  done;  and  what  is  the 
use  of  Saturday  if  I  can't  do  it?  Daddy  often  did." 

Linda  began  work  in  utter  absorption.  She  succeeded 
in  getting  the  car  off  the  jacks.  She  was  lying  on  her  back 
under  it,  filling  some  of  the  most  inaccessible  grease  cups, 
and  she  was  softly  singing  as  she  worked: 

"The  shoes  I  wear  are  common-sense  shoes " 

At  that  minute  Donald  Whiting  swung  down  the  street, 
turned  in  at  the  Strong  residence,  and  rang  the  bell. 
Eileen  was  coming  down  the  stairs,  dressed  for  the  street. 
She  had  inquired  for  Linda,  and  Katy  had  told  her  that 
she  thought  Miss  Linda  had  decided  to  begin  using  her  car, 
and  that  she  was  in  the  garage  working  on  it.  To  Eileen's 
credit  it  may  be  said  that  she  had  not  been  told  that 
a  caller  was  expected.  Linda  never  before  had  had  a 
caller  and,  as  always,  Eileen  was  absorbed  in  her  own  con 
cerns.  Had  she  got  the  rouge  a  trifle  brighter  on  one 
cheek  than  on  the  other?  Was  the  powder  evenly  dis 
tributed?  Would  the  veil  hold  the  handmade  curls  in 


98      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

exactly  the  proper  place?  When  the  bell  rang  her  one 
thought  might  have  been  that  some  of  her  friends  were 
calling  for  her.  She  opened  the  door,  and  when  she 
learned  that  Linda  was  being  asked  for,  it  is  possible  that 
she  mistook  the  clean,  interesting,  and  well-dressed  young 
ster  standing  before  her  for  a  mechanician.  What  she 
said  was:  "Linda's  working  on  her  car.  Go  around  to  the 
left  and  you  will  find  her  in  the  garage,  and  for  heaven's 
sake,  get  it  right  before  you  let  her  start  out,  for  we've  had 
enough  horror  in  this  family  from  motor  accidents." 

Then  she  closed  the  door  before  him  and  stood  but 
toning  her  gloves;  a  wicked  and  malicious  smile  spreading 
over  her  face. 

"Just  possibly,"  she  said,  "that  youngster  is  from  a 
garage,  but  if  he  is,  he's  the  best  imitation  of  the  real  thing 
that  I  have  seen  in  these  chaotic  days." 

Donald  Whiting  stopped  at  the  garage  door  and  looked 
in,  before  Linda  had  finished  her  grease  cups,  and  in  time 
to  be  informed  that  he  might  wear  common-sense  shoes  if 
he  chose.  At  his  step,  Linda  rolled  her  black  head  on  the 
cement  floor  and  raised  her  eyes.  She  dropped  the  grease 
cup,  and  her  face  reddened  deeply. 

"Oh,  my  Lord!"  she  gasped  breathlessly.  "I  forgot  to 
tell  Katy  when  to  call  me!" 

In  that  instant  she  also  forgot  that  the  stress  of  the 
previous  four  years  had  accustomed  men  to  seeing  women 
do  any  kind  of  work  in  any  kind  of  costume;  but  soon 
Linda  realized  that  Donald  Whiting  was  not  paying  any 
particular  attention  either  to  her  or  to  her  occupation. 


THE  BEAR-CAT  99 

He  was  leaning  forward,  gazing  at  the  car  with  positively 
an  enraptured  expression  on  his  eager  young  face. 

" Shades  of  Jehu ! "  he  cried.     "  It's  a  Bear-cat ! " 

Linda  felt  around  her  head  for  the  grease  cup. 

"Why,  sure  it's  a  Bear-cat,"  she  said  with  the  calmness 
of  complete  recovery.  "And  it's  just  about  ready  to  start 
for  its  very  own  cave  in  the  canyon." 

Donald  Whiting  pitched  his  hat  upon  the  seat,  shook  off 
his  coat,  and  sent  it  flying  after  the  hat.  Then  he  began 
unbuttoning  and  turning  back  his  sleeves. 

"Here,  let  me  do  that,"  he  said  authoritatively.  "Gee! 
I  have  never  yet  ridden  in  a  Bear-cat.  Take  me  with  you, 
will  you,  Linda?" 

"Sure,"  said  Linda,  pressing  the  grease  into  the  cup 
with  a  little  paddle  and  holding  it  up  to  see  if  she  had  it 
well  filled.  "Sure,  but  there's  no  use  in  you  getting  into 
this  mess,  because  I  have  only  got  two  more.  You  look 
over  the  engine.  Did  you  ever  grind  valves,  and  do  you 
think  these  need  it?" 

"Why,  they  don't  need  it,"  said  Donald,  "if  they  were 
all  right  when  it  was  jacked  up." 

"Well,  they  were,"  said  Linda.  "It  was  running  like  a 
watch  when  it  went  to  sleep.  But  do  we  dare  take  it  out 
on  these  tires?" 

"How  long  has  it  been?"  asked  Donald,  busy  at  the 
engine. 

"All  of  four  years,"  answered  Linda. 

Donald  whistled  softly  and  started  a  circuit  of  the  car, 
kicking  the  tires  and  feeling  them. 


TOO  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Have  you  filled  them?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  Linda.  "I  did  not  want  to  start  the  engine 
until  I  had  finished  everything  else." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  "I'll  look  at  the  valves  first  and 
then,  if  it  is  all  ready,  there  ought  to  be  an  agency  near 
that  we  can  run  to  carefully,  and  get  tuned  up." 

"There  is,"  said  Linda.  "There  is  one  only  a  few  blocks 
down  the  street  where  Dad  always  had  anything  done 
that  he  did  not  want  to  do  himself." 

"That's  that,  then,"  said  Donald. 

Linda  crawled  from  under  the  car  and  stood  up,  wiping 
her  hands  on  a  bit  of  waste. 

"Do  you  know  what  tires  cost  now?"  she  asked  anx 
iously. 

"They  have  'em  at  the  garage,"  answered  Donald, 
"and  if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  get  a  set;  I  would  get  two. 
I  would  put  them  on  the  rear  wheels.  You  might  be 
surprised  at  how  long  some  of  these  will  last.  Anyway, 
that  would  be  the  thing  to  do." 

"Of  course,"  said  Linda,  in  a  relieved  tone.  "That 
would  be  the  thing  to  do." 

"Now,"  she  said,  "I  must  be  excused  a  few  minutes  till 
I  clean  up  so  I  am  fit  to  go  on  the  streets.  I  hope  you 
won't  think  I  forgot  you  were  coming." 

Donald  laughed  drily. 

"When  'shoes'  was  the  first  word  I  heard,"  he  said, 
"I  did  not  for  a  minute  think  you  had  forgotten." 

"No,  I  didn't  forget,"  said  Linda.  "What  I  did  do 
was  to  become  so  excited  about  cleaning  up  the  car  that 


THE  BEAR-CAT 

I  let  time  go  faster  than  I  thought  it  could.     That  was 
what  made  me  late." 

"Well,  forget  it!"  said  Donald.  "Run  along  and 
jump  into  something,  and  let  us  get  our  tires  and  try 
Kitty  out." 

Linda  reached  up  and  released  the  brakes.  She  stepped 
to  one  side  of  the  car  and  laid  her  hands  on  it. 

"Let  us  run  it  down  opposite  the  kitchen  door,"  she  said, 
"then  you  go  around  to  the  front,  and  I'll  let  you  in,  and 
you  can  read  something  a  few  minutes  till  I  make  myself 
presentable." 

"Oh,  I'll  stay  out  here  and  look  around  the  yard  and  go 
over  the  car  again,"  said  the  boy.  "What  a  bunch  of  stuff 
you  have  got  growing  here;  I  don't  believe  I  ever  saw  half 
of  it  before." 

"It's  Daddy's  and  my  collection,"  said  Linda.  "Some 
day  I'll  show  you  some  of  the  things,  and  tell  you  how  we 
got  them,  and  why  they  are  rare.  To-day  I  just  naturally 
can't  wait  a  minute  until  I  try  my  car." 

"Is  it  really  yours?"  asked  Donald  enviously. 

"Yes,"  said  Linda.  "  It's  about  the  only  thing  on  earth 
that  is  peculiarly  and  particularly  mine.  I  haven't  a  doubt 
there  are  improved  models,  but  Daddy  had  driven  this 
car  only  about  nine  months.  It  was  going  smooth  as 
velvet,  and  there's  no  reason  why  it  should  not  keep  it  up, 
though  I  suspect  that  by  this  time  there  are  later  models 
that  could  outrun  it." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  boy.  "It  looks  like  some 
little  old  car  to  me.  I  bet  it  can  just  skate." 


HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"I  know  it  can,"  said  Linda,  "if  I  haven't  neglected 
something.  We'll  start  carefully,  and  we'll  have  the  in 
spector  at  the  salesrooms  look  it  over." 

Then  Linda  entered  the  kitchen  door  to  find  Katy  with 
everything  edible  that  the  house  afforded  spread  before  her 
on  the  table. 

"Why,  Katy,  what  are  you  doing?"  she  asked. 

"I  was  makin'  ready,"  explained  Katy,  "to  fix  ye  the 
same  kind  of  lunch  I  would  for  Miss  Eileen.  Will  ye  have 
it  under  the  live  oak,  or  in  the  living  room?" 

"Neither,"  said  Linda.  "Come  upstairs  with  me,  and 
in  the  storeroom  you'll  find  the  lunch  case  and  the  thermos 
bottles;  and  don't  stint  yourself,  Katy.  This  is  a  rare 
occasion.  It  never  happened  before.  Probably  it  will 
never  happen  again.  Let's  make  it  high  altitude  while 


we  are  at  it." 


"I'll  do  my  very  best  with  what  I  happen  to  have,"  said 
Katy;  "but  I  warn  you  right  now  I  am  making  a  good 
big  hole  in  the  Sunday  dinner." 

"I  don't  give  two  whoops,"  said  Linda,  "if  there  isn't 
any  Sunday  dinner.  In  memory  of  hundreds  of  times 
that  we  have  eaten  bread  and  milk,  make  it  a  banquet, 
Katy,  and  we'll  eat  bread  and  milk  to-morrow." 

Then  she  took  the  stairway  at  a  bound,  and  ran  to 
her  room.  In  a  very  short  time  she  emerged,  clad  in  a 
clean  blouse  and  breeches,  her  climbing  boots,  her  black 
hair  freshly  brushed  and  braided. 

"I  ought  to  have  something,"  said  Linda,  "to  shade 
my  eyes.  The  glare's  hard  on  them  facing  the  sun." 


THE  BEAR-CAT  103 

Going  down  the  hall  she  came  to  the  storeroom,  opened 
a  drawer,  and  picked  out  a  fine  black  felt  Alpine  hat  that 
had  belonged  to  her  father.  She  carried  it  back  to  her 
room  and,  standing  at  the  glass,  tried  it  on,  pulling  it 
down  on  one  side,  turning  it  up  at  the  other,  and  striking 
a  deep  cleft  across  the  crown.  She  looked  at  herself  in 
tently  for  a  minute,  and  then  she  reached  up  and  deliber 
ately  loosened  the  hair  at  her  temples. 

"Not  half  bad,  all  things  considered,  Linda,"  she  said. 
"But,  oh,  how  you  do  need  a  tich  of  colour." 

She  ran  down  the  hall  and  opened  the  door  to  Eileen's 
room,  and  going  to  her  chiffonier,  pulled  out  a  drawer 
containing  an  array  of  gloves,  veils,  and  ribbons.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  ribbon  stack,  her  eye  caught  the  gleam  of 
colour  for  which  she  was  searching,  and  she  deftly  slipped 
out  a  narrow  scarf  of  Roman  stripes  with  a  deep  black 
fringe  at  the  end.  Sitting  down,  she  fitted  the  hat  over 
her  knee,  picked  up  the  dressing-table  scissors,  and  ripped 
off  the  band.  In  its  place  she  fitted  the  ribbon,  pinning 
it  securely  and  knotting  the  ends  so  that  the  fringe 
reached  her  shoulder.  Then  she  tried  the  hat  again. 
The  result  was  blissfully  satisfactory.  The  flash  of 
orange,  the  blaze  of  red,  the  gleam  of  green,  were  what 
she  needed. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  sister  mine,"  she  said,  "I  know 
you  would  be  perfectly  delighted  to  loan  me  this." 


CHAPTER  IX 
ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS 

THEN  she  went  downstairs  and  walked  into  the 
kitchen,  prepared  for  what  she  would  see,  by  what 
she  heard  as  she  approached. 

With  Katy's  apron  tied  around  his  waist,  Donald  Whit 
ing  was  occupied  in  squeezing  orange,  lemon,  and  pine 
apple  juice  over  a  cake  of  ice  in  a  big  bowl,  preparatory  to 
the  compounding  of  Katy's  most  delicious  brand  of  fruit 
punch.  Without  a  word,  Linda  stepped  to  the  bread  board 
and  began  slicing  the  bread  and  building  sandwiches,  while 
Katy  hurried  her  preparations  for  filling  the  lunch  box. 
A  few  minutes  later  Katy  packed  them  in  the  car,  kissed 
Linda  good-bye,  and  repeatedly  cautioned  Donald  to  make 
her  be  careful. 

As  the  car  rolled  down  the  driveway  and  into  the 
street,  Donald  looked  appraisingly  at  the  girl  beside  him. 

"Is  it  the  prevailing  custom  in  Lilac  Valley  for  young 
ladies  to  kiss  the  cook?"  inquired  Donald  laughingly. 

"Now,  you  just  hush,"  said  Linda.  "Katy  is  not  the 
cook,  alone.  Katy's  my  father,  and  my  mother,  and  my 
family,  and  my  best  friend " 

"Stop  right  there,"  interposed  Donald.  "That  is  quite 
enough  for  any  human  to  be.  Katy's  a  multitude.  She 

104 


ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS         105 

came  out  to  the  car  with  the  canteen,  and  when  I  offered 
to  help  her,  without  any  'polly  foxin','  she  just  said: 
'Sure.  Come  in  and  make  yourself  useful.'  So  I  went, 
and  I  am  expecting  amazing  results  from  the  job  she  gave 


me." 


"Come  to  think  of  it,"  said  Linda,  "I  have  small  ex 
perience  with  anybody's  cooking  except  Katy's  and  my 
own,  but  so  far  as  I  know,  she  can't  very  well  be  beaten." 

Carefully  she  headed  the  car  into  the  garage  adjoining 
the  salesrooms.  There  she  had  an  ovation.  The  manager 
and  several  of  the  men  remembered  her.  The  whole  force 
clustered  around  the  Bear-cat  and  began  to  examine  it,  and 
comment  on  it,  and  Linda  climbed  out  and  asked  to  have 
the  carburetor  adjusted,  while  the  mechanician  put  on  a. 
pair  of  tires.  When  everything  was  satisfactory,  she 
backed  to  the  street,  and  after  a  few  blocks  of  experimental 
driving,  she  headed  for  the  Automobile  Club  to  arrange 
for  her  license  and  then  turned  straight  toward  Multiflores 
Canyon,  but  she  did  not  fail  to  call  Donald  Whiting's  at 
tention  to  every  beauty  of  Lilac  Valley  as  they  passed 
through.  When  they  had  reached  a  long  level  stretch  of 
roadway  leading  to  the  canyon,  Linda  glanced  obliquely  at 
the  boy  beside  her. 

"It  all  comes  back  as  natural  as  breathing,"  she  said. 
"I  couldn't  forget  it  any  more  than  I  could  forget  how  to 
walk,  or  to  swim.  Sit  tight.  I  am  going  to  step  on  the 
gas  for  a  bit,  just  for  old  sake's  sake." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Donald,  taking  off  his  hat  and 
giving  his  head  a  toss  so  that  the  wind  might  have  full  play 


io6  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

through  his  hair.  "But  remember  our  tires  are  not  safe. 
Better  not  go  the  limit  until  we  get  rid  of  these  old  ones, 
and  have  a  new  set  all  around." 

Linda  settled  back  in  her  seat,  took  a  firm  grip  on  the 
wheel,  and  started  down  the  broad,  smooth  highway,  grad 
ually  increasing  the  speed.  The  colour  rushed  to  her 
cheeks.  Her  eyes  were  gleaming. 

"Listen  to  it  purr!"  she  cried  to  Donald.  "If  you  hear 
it  begin  to  growl,  tell  me." 

And  then  for  a  few  minutes  they  rode  like  birds  on  the 
path  of  the  wind.  When  they  approached  the  entrance 
to  the  canyon,  gradually  Linda  slowed  down.  She  turned 
an  exultant  flashing  face  to  Donald  Whiting. 

"That  was  a  whizzer,"  said  the  boy.  "I'll  tell  you 
I  don't  know  what  I'd  give  to  have  a  car  like  this  for  my 
very  own.  I'll  bet  not  another  girl  in  Los  Angeles  has  a 
car  that  can  go  like  that." 

"And  I  don't  believe  I  have  any  business  with  it,"  said 
Linda;  "but  since  circumstances  make  it  mine,  I  am 
going  to  keep  it  and  I  am  going  to  drive  it." 

"Of  course  you  are,"  said  Donald  emphatically. 
*'  Don't  you  ever  let  anybody  fool  you  out  of  this  car, 
because  if  they  wanted  to,  it  would  be  just  because  they  are 
jealous  to  think  they  haven't  one  that  will  go  as  fast." 

"There's  not  the  slightest  possibility  of  my  giving  it 
up  so  long  as  I  can  make  the  engine  turn  over,"  she 
said.  "  I  told  you  how  Father  always  took  me  around  with 
him,  and  there's  nothing  in  this  world  I  am  so  sure  of  as 
I  am  sure  that  I  am  spoiled  for  a  house  cat.  I  have 


ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS         107 

probably  less  feminine  sophistication  than  any  girl  of 
my  age  in  the  world,  and  I  probably  know  more  about 
camping  and  fishing  and  the  scientific  why  and  wherefore 
of  all  outdoors  than  most  of  them.  I  just  naturally  had 
such  a  heavenly  time  with  Daddy  that  it  never  has  hurt 
my  feelings  to  be  left  out  of  any  dance  or  party  that  ever 
was  given.  The  one  thing  that  has  hurt  is  the  isolation. 
Since  I  lost  Daddy  I  haven't  any  one  but  Katy.  Some 
times,  when  I  see  a  couple  of  nice,  interesting  girls  visiting 
with  their  heads  together,  a  great  feeling  of  envy  wells  up 
in  my  soul,  and  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  I  had  such  a 
friend." 

"Ever  try  to  make  one?"  asked  Donald.  "There  are 
mighty  fine  girls  in  the  High  School." 

"I  have  seen  several  that  I  thought  I  would  like  to  be 
friends  with,"  said  Linda,  "but  I  am  so  lacking  in  feminine 
graces  that  I  haven't  known  how  to  make  advances,  in  the 
first  place,  and  I  haven't  had  the  courage,  in  the  second." 

"I  wish  my  sister  were  not  so  much  older  than  you," 
said  Donald. 

"How  old  is  your  sister?"  inquired  Linda. 

"  She  will  be  twenty-three  next  birthday,"  said  Donald; 
"and  of  all  the  nice  girls  you  ever  saw,  she  is  the  queen." 

"Yes,"  she  assented,  "I  am  sure  I  have  heard  your 
sister  mentioned.  But  didn't  you  tell  me  she  had  been 
reared  for  society?" 

"No,  I  did  not,"  said  Donald  emphatically.  "I  told 
you  Mother  believed  in  dressing  her  as  the  majority  of 
other  girls  were  dressed,  but  I  didn't  say  she  had  been 


io8  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

reared   for   society.     She   has   been  reared  with   an   eye 
single  to  making  a  well-dressed,  cultured,  and  gracious 


woman." 


"I  call  that  fine,"  said  Linda.  "Makes  me  envious  of 
you.  Now  forget  everything  except  your  eyes  and  tell 
me  what  you  see.  Have  you  ever  been  here  before?" 

"I  have  been  through  a  few  times  before,  but  seems  to 
me  I  never  saw  it  looking  quite  so  pretty." 

Linda  drove  carefully,  but  presently  Donald  uttered  an 
exclamation  as  she  swerved  from  the  road  and  started 
down  what  appeared  to  be  quite  a  steep  embankment  and 
headed  straight  for  the  stream. 

"Sit  tight,"  she  said  tersely.  "The  Bear-cat  just  loves 
its  cave.  It  knows  where  it  is  going." 

She  broke  through  a  group  of  young  willows  and  ran 
the  car  into  a  tiny  plateau,  walled  in  a  circle  by  the  sheer 
sides  of  the  canyon  reaching  upward  almost  out  of  sight, 
topped  with  great  jagged  overhanging  boulders.  Crowded 
to  one  side,  she  stopped  the  car  and  sat  quietly,  smiling  at 
Donald  Whiting. 

"How  about  it?"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

The  boy  looked  around  him,  carefully  examining  the 
canyon  walls,  and  then  at  the  level,  odorous  floor  where  one 
could  not  step  without  crushing  tiny  flowers  of  white, 
cerise,  blue,  and  yellow.  Big  ferns  grew  along  the  walls, 
here  and  there  "Our  Lord's  Candles"  lifted  high  torches 
not  yet  lighted,  the  ambitious  mountain  stream  skipped 
and  circled  and  fell  over  its  rocky  bed,  while  many  canyon 
wrens  were  singing. 


ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS         109 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  "that  any  one  driving  along 
here  at  an  ordinary  rate  of  speed  would  see  that  car?" 

"No,"  said  Donald,  getting  her  idea,  "I  don't  believe 
they  would." 

"All  right,  then,"  said  Linda.  "Toe  up  even  and  I'll 
race  you  to  the  third  curve  where  you  see  the  big  white 
sycamore." 

Donald  had  a  fleeting  impression  of  a  flash  of  khaki,  a 
gleam  of  red,  and  a  wave  of  black  as  they  started.  He 
ran  with  all  the  speed  he  had  ever  attained  at  a  track  meet. 
He  ran  with  all  his  might.  He  ran  until  his  sides  strained 
and  his  breath  came  short;  but  the  creature  beside  him  was 
not  running;  she  was  flying;  and  long  before  they  neared 
the  sycamore  he  knew  he  was  beaten,  so  he  laughingly 
cried  to  her  to  stop  it.  Linda  turned  to  him  panting  and 
laughing. 

"I  make  that  dash  every  time  I  come  to  the  canyon,  to 
keep  my  muscle  up,  but  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  had 
any  one  to  race  with  in  a  long  time." 

Then  together  they  slowly  walked  down  the  smooth 
black  floor  between  the  canyon  walls.  As  they  crossed  a 
small  bridge  Linda  leaned  over  and  looked  down. 

"Any  one  at  your  house  care  about  'nose  twister'?"  she 
asked  lightly. 

"Why,  isn't  fnat  watercress?"  asked  Donald. 

"Sure  it  is,"  said  Linda.  "Any  one  at  your  house 
kkeit?" 

"  Every  one  of  us,"  answered  Donald.  "We're  all  batty 
about  cress  salad — and,  say,  that  reminds  me  of  some- 


no      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

thing!  If  you  know  so  much  about  this  canyon  and 
everything  in  it,  is  there  any  place  in  it  where  a  fellow 
could  find  a  plant,  a  kind  of  salad  lettuce,  that  the  Indians 
used  to  use?" 

"Might  be,"  said  Linda  carelessly.     "For  why?" 

"Haven't  you  heard  of  the  big  sensation  that  is  being 
made  in  feminine  circles  by  the  new  department  in 
Everybody's  Home?"  inquired  Donald.  "Mother  and 
Mary  Louise  were  discussing  it  the  other  day  at  lunch,  and 
they  said  that  some  of  the  recipes  for  dishes  to  be  made 
from  stuff  the  Indians  used  sounded  delicious.  One  re 
minded  them  of  cress,  and  when  we  saw  the  cress  I  won 
dered  if  I  could  get  them  some  of  the  other." 

"Might,"  said  Linda  drily,  "if  you  could  give  me  a 
pretty  good  idea  of  what  it  is  that  you  want." 

"When  you  know  cress,  it's  queer  that  you  wouldn't 
know  other  things  in  your  own  particular  canyon,"  said 
Donald. 

Linda  realized  that  she  had  overdone  her  disinterested 
ness  a  trifle. 

"I  suspect  it's  miners'  lettuce  you  want,"  she  said. 
"Of  course  I  know  where  there's  some,  but  you  will 
want  it  as  fresh  as  possible  if  you  take  any,  so  we'll  finish 
our  day  first  and  gather  it  the  last  thing  before  we  leave." 

How  it  started  neither  of  them  noticed,  but  they  had 
not  gone  far  before  they  were  climbing  the  walls  and 
hanging  to  precarious  footings.  Her  cheeks  flushed,  her 
eyes  brilliant,  her  lips  laughing,  Linda  was  showing  Donald 
thrifty  specimens  of  that  Cotyledon  known  as  "old  hen 


ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS         in 

and  chickens,"  telling  him  of  the  rare  Echeveria  of  the 
same  family,  and  her  plunge  down  the  canyon  side  while 
trying  to  uproot  it,  exulting  that  she  had  brought  down  the 
plant  without  a  rift  in  the  exquisite  bloom  on  its  leaves. 

Linda  told  about  her  fall,  and  the  two  men  who  had 
passed  at  that  instant,  and  how  she  had  met  them  later, 
and  who  they  were,  and  what  they  were  doing.  Then 
Donald  climbed  high  for  a  bunch  of  larkspur,  and  Linda 
showed  him  how  to  turn  his  back  to  the  canyon  wall 
and  come  down  with  the  least  possible  damage  to  his  per 
son  and  clothing.  When  at  last  both  of  them  were  tired 
they  went  back  to  the  car.  Linda  spread  an  old  Indian 
blanket  over  the  least  flower-grown  spot  she  could  select, 
brought  out  the  thermos  bottles  and  lunch  case,  and  served 
their  lunch.  With  a  glass  of  fruit  punch  in  one  hand  and  a 
lettuce  sandwich  in  the  other,  Donald  smiled  at  Linda. 

"I'll  agree  about  Katy.  She  knows  how,"  he  said 
appreciatively. 

"Katy  is  more  than  a  cook,"  said  Linda  quietly.  "She 
is  a  human  being.  She  has  the  biggest,  kindest  heart. 
When  anybody's  sick  or  in  trouble  she's  the  greatest  help. 
She  is  honest;  she  has  principles;  she  is  intelligent.  In  her 
spare  time  she  reads  good  books  and  magazines.  She 
knows  what  is  going  on  in  the  world.  She  can  talk  intelli 
gently  on  almost  any  subject.  It's  no  disgrace  to  be  a 
cook.  If  it  were,  Katy  would  be  unspeakable.  Fact  is,  at 
the  present  minute  there's  no  one  in  all  the  world  so  dear 
to  me  as  Katy.  I  always  talk  Irish  with  her." 

"Well,  I  call  that  rough  on  your  sister,"  said  Donald. 


ii2  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Maybe  it  is,"  conceded  Linda.  "I  suspect  a  lady 
wouldn't  have  said  that,  but  Eileen  and  I  are  so  different. 
She  never  has  made  the  slightest  effort  to  prove  herself 
lovable  to  me,  and  so  I  have  never  learned  to  love  her. 
Which  reminds  me — how  did  you  happen  to  come  to  the 
garage?" 

"The  very  beautiful  young  lady  who  opened  the  door 
mistook  me  for  a  mechanician.  She  told  me  I  would  find 
you  working  on  your  car  and  for  goodness'  sake  to  see 
that  it  was  in  proper  condition  before  you  drove  it." 

Linda  looked  at  him  with  wide,  surprised  eyes  in  which  a 
trace  of  indignation  was  plainly  discernible. 

"Now  listen  to  me,"  she  said  deliberately.  "Eileen  is 
a  most  sophisticated  young  lady.  If  she  saw  you,  she 
never  in  this  world  thought  you  were  a  mechanic  sent 
from  a  garage  presenting  yourself  at  our  front  door." 

"There  might  have  been  a  spark  of  malice  in  the  big 
blue-gray  eyes  that  carefully  appraised  me,"  said  Donald. 

"Your  choice  of  words  is  good,"  said  Linda,  refilling 
the  punch  glass.  "'Appraise'  fits  Eileen  like  her  glove. 
She  appraises  everything  on  a  monetary  basis,  and  when 
she  can't  figure  that  it's  going  to  be  worth  an  appreciable 
number  of  dollars  and  cents  to  her — 'to  the  garage  wid  it/ 
as  Katy  would  say." 

When  they  had  finished  their  lunch  Linda  began  pack 
ing  the  box  and  Donald  sat  watching  her. 

"At  this  point,"  said  Linda,  "Daddy  always  smoked- 
Do  you  smoke?" 

There  was  a  hint  of  deeper  colour  in  the  boy's  cheeks. 


ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS         113 

"I  did  smoke  an  occasional  cigarette,"  he  said  lightly, 
"up  to  the  day,  not  a  thousand  years  ago,  when  a  very  em 
phatic  young  lady  who  should  have  known,  insinuated 
that  it  was  bad  for  the  nerves,  and  going  on  the  presump 
tion  that  she  knew,  I  haven't  smoked  a  cigarette  since 
and  I'm  not  going  to  until  I  find  out  whether  I  can  do 
better  work  without  them." 

Linda  folded  napkins  and  packed  away  accessories 
thoughtfully.  Then  she  looked  into  the  boy's  eyes. 

"Now  we  reach  the  point  of  our  being  here  together," 
she  said.  "It's  time  to  fight,  and  I  am  sorry  we  didn't 
go  at  it  gas  and  bomb  the  minute  we  met.  You're  so 
different  from  what  I  thought  you  were.  If  any  one  had 
told  me  a  week  ago  that  you  would  take  off  your  coat  and 
mess  with  my  automobile  engine,  or  wear  Katy's  apron 
and  squeeze  lemons  in  our  kitchen  I  would  have  looked 
him  over  for  Daddy's  high  sign  of  hysteria,  at  least.  It's 
too  bad  to  have  such  a  good  time  as  I  have  had  this  after 
noon,  and  then  end  with  a  fight." 

"That's  nothing,"  said  Donald.  "You  couldn't  have 
had  as  good  a  time  as  I  have  had.  You're  like  another 
boy.  A  fellow  can  be  just  a  fellow  with  you,  and  some 
how  you  make  everything  you  touch  mean  something 
it  never  meant  before.  You  have  made  me  feel  that  I 
would  be  about  twice  the  man  I  am  if  I  had  spent  the  time 
I  have  wasted  in  plain  jazzing  around,  hunting  Cotyle 
don  or  trap-door  spiders'  nests." 

"I  get  you,"  said  Linda.  "It's  the  difference  between 
a  girl  reared  in  an  atmosphere  of  georgette  and  rouge, 


n4  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

and  one  who  has  grown  up  in  the  canyons  with  the  oaks 
and  sycamores.  One  is  natural  and  the  other  is  artificial. 
Most  boys  prefer  the  artificial/' 

"I  thought  I  did  myself/'  said  Donald,  "but  to-day  has 
taught  me  that  I  don't.  I  think,  Linda,  that  you  would 
make  the  finest  friend  a  fellow  ever  had.  I  firmly  and 
finally  decline  to  fight  with  you;  but  for  God's  sake, 
Linda,  tell  me  how  I  can  beat  that  little  cocoanut-headed 

Jap." 

Linda  slammed  down  the  lid  to  the  lunch  box.  Her 
voice  was  smooth  and  even  but  there  was  battle  in  her 
eyes  and  she  answered  decisively:! "Well,  you  can't  beat 
him  calling  him  names.  There  is  only  one  way  on  God's 
footstool  that  you  can  beat  him.  You  can't  beat  him 
legislating  against  Tiim.  You  can't  beat  him  boycotting 
him.  You  can't  beat  him  with  any  tricks.  He  is  as  sly 
as  a  cat  and  he  has  got  a  whole  bag  full  of  tricks  of  his  own, 
and  he  has  proved  right  here  in  Los  Angeles  that  he  has 
got  a  brain  that  is  hard  to  beatu  All  you  can  do,  and  be  a 
man  commendable  to  your  own  soul,  is  to  take  his  sub 
ject  and  put  your  brain  on  it  to  such  purpose  that  you  cut 
pigeon  wings  around  him.  What  are  you  studying  in 
your  classes,  anyway  ? " 

"Trigonometry,  Rhetoric,  Ancient  History,  Astron 
omy,"  answered  Donald. 

"And  is  your  course  the  same  as  his?"  inquired  Linda. 

"Strangely  enough  it  is,"  answered  Donald.  "We  have 
been  in  the  same  classes  all  through  High  School.  I 
think  the  little  monkey " 


ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS         115 

"Man,  you  mean,"  interposed  Linda. 

"'Man,'"  conceded  Donald.  "Has  waited  until  I 
selected  my  course  all  the  way  through,  and  then  he  has 
announced  what  he  would  take.  He  probably  figured 
that  I  had  somebody  with  brains  back  of  the  course  I 
selected,  and  that  whatever  I  studied  would  be  suitable 
for  him." 

"I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Linda.  "They  are 
quick;  oh!  they  are  quick;  and  they  know  from  their 
cradles  what  it  is  that  they  have  in  the  backs  of  their 
heads.  We  are  not  going  to  beat  them  driving  them  to 
Mexico  or  to  Canada,  or  letting  them  monopolize  China. 
That  is  merely  temporizing.  That  is  giving  them  fertile 
soil  on  which  to  take  the  best  of  their  own  and  the  level 
best  of  ours,  and  by  amalgamating  the  two,  build  higher 
than  we  ever  have.  There  is  just  one  way  in  all  this 
world  that  we  can  beat  Eastern  civilization  and  all  that 
it  intends  to  do  to  us  eventually.  The  white  man  has 
dominated  by  his  colour  so  far  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  but  it  is  written  in  the  Books  that  when  the  men  of 
colour  acquire  our  culture  and  combine  it  with  their  own 
methods  of  living  and  rate  of  production,  they  are  going  to 
bring  forth  greater  numbers,  better  equipped  for  the  battle 
of  life,  than  we  are.  When  they  have  got  our  last  secret, 
constructive  or  scientific,  they  will  take  it,  and  living  in 
a  way  that  we  would  not,  reproducing  in  numbers  we  don't, 
they  will  beat  us  at  any  game  we  start,  if  we  don't  take 
warning  while  we  are  in  the  ascendancy,  and  keep  there." 

"Well,  there  is  something  to  think  about,"  said  Donald 


i:6  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Whiting,  staring  past  Linda  at  the  side  of  the  canyon  as 
if  he  had  seen  the  same  handwriting  on  the  wall  that  dis 
mayed  Belshazzar  at  the  feast  that  preceded  his  downfall. 

"  I  see  what  you're  getting  at,"  he  said.  "  I  had  thought 
that  there  might  be  some  way  to  circumvent  him." 

"There  is!"  broke  in  Linda  hastily.  "There  is.  You 
can  beat  him,  but  you  have  got  to  beat  him  in  an  honour 
able  way  and  in  a  way  that  is  open  to  him  as  it  is  to 
you." 

"  Pll  do  anything  in  the  world  if  you  will  only  tell  me 
how,"  said  Donald.  "Maybe  you  think  it  isn't  grinding 
me  and  humiliating  me  properly.  Maybe  you  think 
Father  and  Mother  haven't  warned  me.  Maybe  you 
think  Mary  Louise  isn't  secretly  ashamed  of  me.  How 
can  I  beat  him,  Linda?" 

Linda's  eyes  were  narrowed  to  a  mere  line.  She  was 
staring  at  the  wall  back  of  Donald  as  if  she  hoped  that 
Heaven  would  intercede  in  her  favour  and  write  thereon 
a  line  that  she  might  translate  to  the  boy's  benefit. 

"I  have  been  watching  pretty  sharply,"  she  said. 
"Take  them  as  a  race,  as  a  unit — of  course  there  are  excep 
tions,,  there  always  are — but  the  great  body  of  them  are 
mechanical.  They  are  imitative.  They  are  not  develop 
ing  anything  great  of  their  own  in  their  own  country. 
They  are  spreading  all  over  the  world  and  carrying  home 
sewing  machines  and  threshing  machines  and  automobiles 
and  cantilever  bridges  and  submarines  and  aeroplanes — 
anything  from  eggbeaters  to  telescopes.  They  are  not 
creating  one  single  thing.  They  are  not  missing  imitating 


ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS         117 

every  thing  that  the  white  man  can  do  anywhere  else  on 
earth.  They  are  just  like  the  Germans  so  far  as  that  is 
concerned." 

"I  get  that,  all  right  enough,"  said  Donald.  "Now  go  on. 
What  is  your  deduction  ?  How  the  devil  am  I  to  beat  the 
best?  He  is  perfect,  right  straight  along  in  everything." 

The  red  in  Linda's  cheeks  deepened.  Her  eyes  opened 
their  widest.  She  leaned  forward,  and  with  her  closed 
fist,  pounded  the  blanket  before  him. 

"Then,  by  gracious,"  she  said  sternly,  "you  have  got 
to  do  something  new.  You  have  got  to  be  perfect,  plus.'9 

"'Perfect,  plus?'"  gasped  Donald. 

"Yes,  sir!"  said  Linda  emphatically.  "You  have  got 
to  be  perfect,  plus.  If  he  can  take  his  little  mechanical 
brain  and  work  a  thing  out  till  he  has  got  it  absolutely 
right,  you  have  got  to  go  further  than  that  and  discover 
something  pertaining  to  it  not  hitherto  thought  of  and 
start  something  new.  I  tell  you  you  must  use  your 
brains.  You  should  be  more  than  an  imitator.  You 
must  be  a  creator!" 

Donald  started  up  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Well,  some  job  I  call  that,"  he  said.  "Who  do  you 
think  I  am,  the  Almighty?" 

"No,"  said  Linda  quietly,  "you  are  not.  You  are 
merely  His  son,  created  in  His  own  image,  like  Him,  ac 
cording  to  the  Book,  and  you  have  got  to  your  advan 
tage  the  benefit  of  all  that  has  been  learned  down  the 
ages.  We  have  got  to  take  up  each  subject  in  your 
course,  and  to  find  some  different  books  treating  this  same 


ii8  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

subject.  We  have  got  to  get  at  it  from  a  new  angle. 
We  must  dig  into  higher  authorities.  We  have  got  to 
coach  you  till,  when  you  reach  the  highest  note  possible 
for  the  parrot,  you  can  go  ahead  and  embellish  it  with  a 
few  mocking-bird  flourishes.  All  Oka  Sayye  knows  how 
to  do  is  to  learn  the  lesson  in  his  book  perfectly,  and  he 
is  100  per  cent.  I  have  told  you  what  you  must  do  to  add 
the  plus,  and  you  can  do  it  if  you  are  the  boy  I  take 
you  for.  People  have  talked  about  the  *  yellow  peril' 
till  it's  got  to  be  a  meaningless  phrase.  Somebody  must 
wake  up  to  the  realization  that  it's  the  deadliest  peril 
that  ever  has  menaced  white  civilization.  Why  shouldn't 
you  have  your  hand  in  such  wonderful  work?" 

"Linda,"  said  the  boy  breathlessly,  "do  you  realize 
that  you  have  been  saying  'we '  ?  Can  you  help  me  ?  Will 
you  help  me?" 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "I  didn't  realize  that  I  had  said 
'we.'  I  didn't  mean  two  people,  just  you  and  me.  I 
meant  all  the  white  boys  and  girls  of  the  High  School 
and  the  city  and  the  state  and  the  whole  world.  If  we 
are  going  to  combat  the  'yellow  peril'  we  must  combine 
against  it.  We  have  got  to  curb  our  appetites  and  train 
our  brains  and  enlarge  our  hearts  till  we  are  something 
bigger  and  finer  and  numerically  greater  than  this  yellow 
peril.  We  can't  take  it  and  pick  it  up  and  push  it  into 
the  sea.  We  are  not  Germans  and  we  are  not  Turks. 
I  never  wanted  anything  in  all  this  world  worse  than  I 
want  to  see  you  graduate  ahead  of  Oka  Sayye.  And  then 
I  want  to  see  the  white  boys  and  girls  of  Canada  and  of 


ONE  HUNDRED  PER  CENT  PLUS         119 

England  and  of  Norway  and  Sweden  and  Australia,  and  of 
the  whole  world  doing  exactly  wh^t  I  am  recommending 
that  you  do  in  your  class  and  what  I  am  doing  personally 
in  my  own.  I  have  had  Japs  in  my  classes  ever  since  I 
have  been  in  school,  but  Father  always  told  me  to  study 
them,  to  play  the  game  fairly,  but  to  beat  them  in  some 
way,  in  some  fair  way,  to  beat  them  at  the  game  they  are 
undertaking." 

"Well,  there  is  one  thing  you  don't  take  into  consider 
ation,"  said  Donald.  "All  of  us  did  not  happen  to  be 
fathered  by  Alexander  Strong.  Maybe  we  haven't  all 
got  your  brains." 

"Oh,  pother!"  said  Linda.  "I  know  of  a  case  where  a 
little  Indian  was  picked  up  from  a  tribal  battlefield  in 
South  America  and  brought  to  this  country  and  put  into 
our  schools,  and  there  was  nothing  that  any  white  pupil 
in  the  school  could  do  that  he  couldn't,  so  long  as  it 
was  imitative  work.  You  have  got  to  be  constructive. 
You  have  got  to  work  out  some  way  to  get  ahead  of  them; 
and  if  you  will  take  the  history  of  the  white  races  and  go 
over  their  great  achievements  in  mechanics,  science,  art, 
literature — any  thing  you  choose — when  a  white  man 
is  constructive,  when  he  does  create,  he  can  simply  cut 
circles  around  the  coloured  races.  The  thing  is  to  get 
the  boys  and  girls  of  to-day  to  understand  what  is  going  on 
in  the  world,  what  they  must  do  as  their  share  in  making 
the  world  safe  for  their  grandchildren.  Life  is  a  struggle. 
It  always  has  been.  It  always  will  be.  There  is  no  better 
study  than  to  go  into  the  canyons  or  the  deserts  and  efface 


120  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

yourself  and  watch  life.  It's  an  all-day  process  of  the 
stronger  annihilating  the  weaker.  The  one  inexorable 
thing  in  the  world  is  Nature.  The  eagle  dominates  the 
hawk;  the  hawk,  the  falcon;  the  falcon,  the  raven;  and  so 
on  down  to  the  place  where  the  humming  bird  drives  the 
moth  from  his  particular  trumpet  flower.  The  big  snake 
swallows  the  little  one.  The  big  bear  appropriates  the 
desirable  cave." 

"And  is  that  what  you  are  recommending  people  to  do  ? " 
"No,"  said  Linda,  "it  is  not.  That  is  wild.  We  go  a 
step  ahead  of  the  wild,  or  we  ourselves  become  wTild.  We 
have  brains,  and  with  our  brains  we  must  do  in  a  scientific 
way  what  Nature  does  with  tooth  and  claw.  In  other 
words,  and  to  be  concrete,  put  these  things  in  the  car 
while  I  fold  the  blanket.  We'll  gather  our  miners' 
lettuce  and  then  we'll  go  home  and  search  Daddy's  li 
brary  and  see  if  there  is  anything  bearing  in  a  higher  way 
on  any  subject  you  are  taking,  so  that  you  can  get  from 
it  some  new  ideas,  some  different  angle,  some  higher  light, 
something  that  will  end  in  speedily  prefacing  Oka  Sayye's 
perfect  with  your  pluperfect!" 


CHAPTER  X 
KATY  TO  THE  RESCUE 

CDA  delivered  Donald  Whiting  at  his  door  with 
an  armload  of  books  and  a  bundle  of  miners' 
lettuce  and  then  drove  to  her  home  in  Lilac 
Valley — in  the  eye  of  the  beholder  on  the  floor-level 
macadam  road;  in  her  own  eye  she  scarcely  grazed  it.  The 
smooth,  easy  motion  of  the  car,  the  softly  purring  engine 
were  thrilling.  The  speed  at  which  she  was  going  was  like 
having  wings  on  her  body.  The  mental  stimulus  she  had 
experienced  in  concentrating  her  brain  on  Donald  Whit 
ing's  problem  had  stimulated  her  imagination.  The  radiant 
colour  of  spring;  the  chilled,  perfumed,  golden  air;  the  sure 
sense  of  having  found  a  friend,  had  ruffled  the  plumes  of 
her  spirit.  On  the  home  road  Donald  had  plainly  indi 
cated  that  he  would  enjoy  spending  the  morrow  with  her, 
and  she  had  advised  him  to  take  the  books  she  had  pro 
vided  and  lock  himself  in  his  room  and  sweat  out  some  in 
formation  about  Monday's  lessons  which  would  at  least 
arrest  his  professor's  attention,  and  lead  his  mind  to  the  fact 
that  something  was  beginning  to  happen.  And  then  she 
had  laughingly  added :  "To-morrow  is  Katy's  turn.  I  told 
the  old  dear  I  would  take  her  as  soon  as  I  felt  the  car  was 
safe.  Every  day  she  does  many  things  that  she  hopes  will 

121 


122  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

give  me  pleasure.  This  is  one  thing  I  can  do  that  I  know 
will  delight  her." 

"Next  Saturday,  then?"  questioned  Donald.  And 
Linda  nodded. 

"Sure  thing.  I'll  be  thinking  up  some  place  extra 
interesting.  Come  in  the  morning  if  you  want,  and  we'll 
take  a  lunch  and  go  for  the  day.  Which  do  you  like  best, 
mountains  or  canyons  or  desert  or  sea?" 

"I  like  it  best  wherever  what  you're  interested  in  takes 
you,"  said  Donald  simply. 

"All  right,  then,"  answered  Linda,  "we'll  combine 
business  and  pleasure." 

So  they  parted  with  another  meeting  arranged. 

When  she  reached  home  she  found  Katy  tearfully  re 
joicing,  plainly  revealing  how  intensely  anxious  she  had 
been.  But  when  Linda  told  her  that  the  old  tires  had 
held,  that  the  car  ran  wonderfully,  that  everything  was 
perfectly  safe,  that  she  drove  as  unconsciously  as  she 
breathed,  and  that  to-morrow  Katy  was  to  go  for  a  long 
ride,  her  joy  was  incoherent. 

Linda  laughed.  She  patted  Katy  and  started  down  the 
hallway,  when  she  called  back:  "What  is  this  package?" 

"A  delivery  boy  left  it  special  only  a  few  minutes  ago. 
Must  be  something  Miss  Eileen  bought  and  thought  she 
would  want  to-morrow,  and  then  afterward  she  got  this 
invitation  and  went  on  as  she  was." 

Linda  stood  gazing  at  the  box.  It  did  look  so  suspi 
ciously  like  a  dress  box. 

"Katy,"  she  said,  "I  have  just  about  got  an  irresistible 


KATY  TO  THE  RESCUE  123 

impulse  to  peep.  I  was  telling  Eileen  last  night  of  a 
dress  I  saw  that  I  thought  perfect.  It  suited  me  better 
than  any  other  dress  I  ever  did  see.  It  was  at  'The 
Mode/  This  box  is  from  'The  Mode/  Could  there  be 
a  possibility  that  she  sent  it  up  specially  for  me?" 

"I  think  she  would  put  your  name  on  it  if  she  meant  it 
for  ye,"  said  Katy. 

"One  peep  would  show  me  whether  it  is  my  dress  or 
not,"  said  Linda,  "and  peep  I'm  going  to." 

She  began  untying  the  string. 

"There's  one  thing,"  said  Katy,  "Miss  Eileen's  sizes 
would  never  fit  ye." 

"Might,"  conceded  Linda.  "I  am  taller  than  she  is, 
but  I  could  wear  her  waists  if  I  wanted  to,  and  she  always 
alters  her  skirts  herself  to  save  the  fees.  Glory  be! 
This  is  my  dress,  and  there's  a  petticoat  and  stockings  to 
match  it.  Why,  the  nice  old  thing!  I  suggested  hard 
enough,  but  in  my  heart  I  hardly  thought  she  would  do 
it.  Oh,  dear,  now  if  I  only  had  some  shoes,  and  a  hat." 

Linda  was  standing  holding  the  jacket  in  one  hand,  the 
stockings  in  the  other,  her  face  flaming.  Katy  drew  her 
self  to  full  height.  She  reached  over  and  picked  the 
things  from  Linda's  fingers. 

"If  ye  know  that  is  your  dress,  lambie,"  she  said 
authoritatively,  "ye  go  right  out  and  get  into  that  car 
and  run  to  town  and  buy  ye  a  pair  of  shoes." 

"But  I  have  no  credit  anywhere  and  I  have  no  money, 
yet,"  said  Linda. 

"Well,  I  have,"  said  Katy,  "and  this  time  ye're  go- 


i24  HER  FATHER'S   DAUGHTER 

ing  to  stop  your  stubbornness  and  take  enough  to  get 
ye  what  you  need.  Ye  go  to  the  best  store  in  Los  An 
geles  and  come  back  here  with  a  pair  of  shoes  that  just 
match  those  stockings,  and  ye  go  fast,  before  the  stores 
close.  If  ye've  got  to  speed  a  little,  do  it  in  the  country 
and  do  it  judacious." 

"Katy,  you're  arriving!"  cried  Linda.  " Judicious 
speeding'  is  one  thing  I  learned  better  than  any  other  les 
son  about  driving  a  motor  car.  Three  fourths  of  the 
driving  Father  and  I  did  we  were  speeding  judiciously." 

Katy  held  the  skirt  to  Linda's  waist. 

"Well,  maybe  it's  a  little  shorter  than  any  you  have 
been  wearing,  but  it  ain't  as  short  as  Eileen  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  girls  your  age  have  them,  so  that's  all  right, 
honey.  Slip  on  your  coat." 

Katy's  fingers  were  shaking  as  she  lifted  the  jacket 
and  Linda  slipped  into  it. 

"Oh,  Lord,"  she  groaned,  "ye  can't  be  wearing 
that!  The  sleeves  don't  come  much  below  your  elbows." 

"You  will  please  to  observe,"  said  Linda,  "that  they  are 
flowing  sleeves  and  they  are  not  intended  to  come  below 
the  elbows;  but  it's  a  piece  of  luck  I  tried  it  on,  for  it  re 
minds  me  that  it's  a  jacket  suit  and  I  must  have  a  blouse. 
When  you  get  the  shoe  money,  make  it  enough  for  a 
blouse — two  blouses,  Katy,  one  for  school  and  one  to  fuss 
up  in  a  little." 

Without  stopping  to  change  her  clothing,  Linda  ran  to 
the  garage  and  hurried  back  to  the  city.  It  was  less  than 
an  hour's  run,  but  she  made  it  in  ample  time  to  park  her 


KATY  TO  THE  RESCUE  125 

car  and  buy  the  shoes.  She  selected  a  pair  of  low  ox 
fords  of  beautiful  colour,  matching  the  stockings.  Then 
she  hurried  to  one  of  the  big  dry-goods  stores  and  bought 
the  two  waists  and  an  inexpensive  straw  hat  that  would 
harmonize  with  the  suit;  a  hat  small  enough  to  stick,  in 
the  wind,  with  brim  enough  to  shade  her  eyes.  In  about 
two  hours  she  was  back  with  Katy  and  they  were  in  her 
room  trying  on  the  new  clothing. 

"It  dumbfounds  me,"  said  Linda,  "to  have  Eileen  do 
this  for  me." 

She  had  put  on  the  shoes  and  stockings,  a  plain  geor 
gette  blouse  of  a  soft,  brownish  wood-gray,  with  a  bit  of 
heavy  brown  silk  embroidery  decorating  the  front,  and 
the  jacket.  The  dress  was  of  silky  changeable  tricolette, 
the  skirt  plain.  Where  a  fold  lifted  and  was  strongly 
lighted,  it  was  an  exquisite  silver-gray;  where  a  shadow 
fell  deeply  it  was  gray-brown.  The  coat  reached  half 
way  to  the  knees.  It  had  a  rippling  skirt  with  a  row  of 
brown  embroidery  around  it,  a  deep  belt  with  double  but 
toning  at  the  waistline,  and  collar  and  sleeves  in  a  more 
elaborate  pattern  of  the  same  embroidery  as  the  skirt. 
Linda  perched  the  hat  on  her  head,  pulled  it  down  se 
curely,  and  faced  Katy. 

"Now  then!"  she  challenged. 

"And  it's  a  perfect  dress!"  said  Katy  proudly,  "and 
you're  just  the  colleen  to  wear  it.  My,  but  I  wisht 
your  father  could  be  seeing  ye  the  now." 

With  almost  reverent  hands  Linda  removed  the  cloth 
ing  and  laid  it  away.  Then  she  read  a  letter  from  Marian 


126  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

that  was  waiting  for  her,  telling  Katy  scraps  of  it  in  run 
ning  comment  as  she  scanned  the  sheets. 

"She  likes  her  boarding  place.  There  are  nice  people 
in  it.  She  has  got  a  wonderful  view  from  the  windows  of 
her  room.  She  is  making  friends.  She  thinks  one  of  the 
men  at  Nicholson  and  Snow's  is  just  fine;  he  is  helping 
her  all  he  can,  on  the  course  she  is  taking.  And  she 
wants  us  to  look  carefully  everywhere  for  any  scrap  of 
paper  along  the  hedge  or  around  the  shrubbery  on  the  north 
side  of  the  house.  One  of  her  three  sheets  of  plans  is  miss 
ing.  I  don't  see  where  in  the  world  it  could  have  gone, 
Katy." 

Katy  spread  out  her  hands  in  despair. 

"There  was  not  a  scrap  of  a  sheet  of  paper  in  the  room 
when  I  cleaned  it,"  she  said,  "not  a  scrap.  And  if  I  had 
seen  a  sheet  flying  around  the  yard  I  would  have  picked 
it  up.  She  just  must  be  mistaken  about  having  lost  it 
here.  She  must  have  opened  her  case  on  the  train  and 
lost  it  there." 

Linda  shook  her  head. 

"I  put  that  stuff  in  the  case  myself,"  she  said,  "and 
the  clothes  on  top  of  it,  and  she  wouldn't  have  any  reason 
for  taking  those  things  out  on  the  train.  I  can't  under 
stand,  but  she  did  have  three  rough  sketches.  She  had 
her  heart  set  on  winning  that  prize  and  it  would  be  a  great 
help  to  her,  and  certainly  it  was  the  most  comprehensive 
and  convenient  plan  for  a  house  of  that  class  that  I  ever 
have  seen.  If  I  ever  have  a  house,  she  is  going  to  plan 
it,  even  if  she  doesn't  get  to  plan  John  Oilman's  as  he 


KATY  TO  THE  RESCUE  127 

always  used  to  say  that  she  should.  And  by  the  way, 
Katy,  isn't  it  kind  of  funny  for  Eileen  to  go  away  over 
Sunday  when  it's  his  only  holiday?" 

"Oh,  she'll  telephone  him,"  said  Katy,  "and  very  like, 
he'll  go  down,  or  maybe  he  is  with  her.  Ye  needn't 
waste  any  sympathy  on  him.  Eileen  will  take  care  that 
she  has  him  so  long  as  she  thinks  she  wants  him." 

Later  it  developed  that  Eileen  had  secured  the  invi 
tation  because  she  was  able  to  produce  three  most  eligible 
men.  Not  only  was  John  Oilman  with  the  party,  but 
Peter  Morrison  and  Henry  Anderson  were  there  as 
well.  It  was  in  the  nature  of  a  hastily  arranged  celebra 
tion,  because  the  deal  for  three  acres  of  land  that  Peter 
Morrison  most  coveted  on  the  small  plateau,  mountain 
walled,  in  Lilac  Valley,  was  in  escrow.  He  had  made  a 
payment  on  it.  Anderson  was  working  on  his  plans. 
Contractors  had  been  engaged,  and  on  Monday  work 
would  begin.  The  house  was  to  be  built  as  soon  as  possi 
ble,  and  Peter  Morrison  had  arranged  that  the  garage 
was  to  be  built  first.  This  he  meant  to  occupy  as  a  resi 
dence  so  that  he  could  be  on  hand  to  superintend  the  con 
struction  of  the  new  home  and  to  protect,  as  far  as  possi 
ble,  the  natural  beauty  and  the  natural  growth  of  the 
location. 

Early  Sunday  morning  Linda  and  Katy,  with  a  full 
lunch  box  and  a  full  gasolene  tank,  slid  from  the  driveway 
and  rolled  down  the  main  street  of  Lilac  Valley  toward 
the  desert. 

"We'll  switch  over  and  strike  San  Fernando  Road," 


128  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

said  Linda,  "and  I'll  scout  around  Sunland  a  bit  and  see 
if  I  can  find  anything  that  will  furnish  material  for  an 
other  new  dish." 

That  day  was  wonderful  for  Katy.  She  trotted  after 
Linda  over  sandy  desert  reaches,  along  the  seashore, 
up  mountain  trails,  and  through  canyons  connected  by 
long  stretches  of  motoring  that  was  more  like  flying  than 
riding.  She  was  tired  but  happy  when  she  went  to  bed. 
Monday  morning  she  was  an  interested  spectator  as 
Linda  dressed  for  school. 

"Sure,  and  hasn't  the  old  chrysalis  opened  up  and  let 
out  the  nicest  little  lady-bird  moth,  Katy?"  inquired 
Linda  as  she  smoothed  her  gray-gold  skirts.  "I  think 
myself  that  this  dress  is  a  trifle  too  good  for  school.  When 
I  get  my  allowance  next  week  I  think  I'll  buy  me  a  cloth 
skirt  and  a  couple  of  wash  waists  and  save  this  for  better; 
but  it  really  was  good  of  Eileen  to  take  so  much  pains  and 
send  it  to  me,  when  she  was  busy  planning  a  trip." 

Katy  watched  Linda  go,  and  she  noted  the  new  light  in 
her  eyes,  the  new  lift  of  her  head,  and  the  proud  sureness 
of  her  step,  and  she  wondered  if  a  new  dress  could  do  all 
that  for  a  girl;  she  scarcely  believed  that  it  could.  And, 
too,  she  had  very  serious  doubts  about  the  dress.  She 
kept  thinking  of  it  during  the  day,  and  when  Eileen 
came,  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  at  the  first  words  on 
her  lips:  "Has  my  dress  come?"  Katy  felt  a  wave  of 
illness  surge  through  her.  She  looked  at  Eileen  so  help 
lessly  that  that  astute  reader  of  human  nature  imme 
diately  suspected  something. 


KATY  TO  THE  RESCUE  129 

"I  sent  it  special,"  she  said,  "because  I  didn't  know  at 
the  time  that  I  was  going  to  Riverside  and  I  wanted  to 
work  on  it.  Isn't  it  here  yet? " 

Then  Katy  prepared  to  do  battle  for  the  child  of  her 
heart. 

"Was  the  dress  ye  ordered  sent  the  one  Miss  Linda  was 
telling  ye  about?"  she  asked  tersely. 

"Yes,  it  was,"  said  Eileen.  "Linda  has  got  mighty 
good  taste.  Any  dress  she  admired  was  sure  to  be  right. 
She  said  there  was  a  beautiful  dress  at  'The  Mode'.  I  went 
and  looked,  and  sure  enough  there  was,  a  perfect  beauty." 

"But  she  wanted  the  dress  for  herself,"  said  Katy. 

"It  was  not  a  suitable  dress  for  school,"  said  Eileen. 

"Well,  it  strikes  me,"  said  Katy,  "that  it  was  just  the 
spittin'  image  of  fifty  dresses  I've  seen  ye  wear  to  school." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  demanded  Eileen. 

"I  know  just  this,"  said  Katy  with  determination. 
"  Ye've  had  one  new  dress  in  the  last  few  days  and  you're 
not  needin'  another.  The  blessed  Virgin  only  knows 
when  Miss  Linda's  had  a  dress.  She  thought  ye'd  done 
yourself  proud  and  sent  it  for  her,  and  she  put  it  on, 
and  a  becoming  and  a  proper  thing  it  was  too!  I  ad 
vanced  her  the  money  myself  and  sent  her  to  get  some 
shoes  to  match  it  since  she  had  her  car  fixed  and  could  go 
in  a  hurry.  A  beautiful  dress  it  is,  and  on  her  back  this 
minute  it  is!" 

Eileen  was  speechless  with  anger.  Her  face  was  a 
sickly  white  and  the  rouge  spots  on  her  cheeks  stood  a 
glaring  admission. 


1 3o      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me? "  she  gasped. 

"Not  again/'  said  the  daughter  of  Erin  firmly,  "be 
cause  I  have  already  told  ye  wance.  Linda's  gone  like 
a  rag  bag  since  the  Lord  knows  when.  She  had  a  right  to 
the  dress,  and  she  thought  it  was  hers,  and  she  took  it. 
And  if  ye  ever  want  any  more  respect  or  obedience  or 
love  from  the  kiddie,  ye  better  never  let  her  know  that 
ye  didn't  intend  it  for  her,  for  nothing  was  ever  quite  so 
fair  and  right  as  that  she  should  have  it;  and  while  you're 
about  it  you'd  better  go  straight  to  the  store  and  get  her 
what  she  is  needin'  to  go  with  it,  or  better  still,  ye  had 
better  give  her  a  fair  share  of  the  money  of  which  there 
used  to  be  such  a  plenty,  and  let  her  get  her  things  herself, 
for  she's  that  tasty  nobody  can  beat  her  when  she's  got 
anything  to  do  with." 

Eileen  turned  on  Katy  in  a  gust  of  fury. 

"Katherine  O'Donovan,"  she  s'aid  shrilly,  "pack 
your  trunk  and  see  how  quick  you  can  get  out  of  this 
house.  I  have  stood  your  insolence  for  years,  and  I  won't 
endure  it  a  minute  longer!" 

Katy  folded  her  red  arms  and  lifted  her  red  chin,  and  a 
steel-blue  light  flashed  from  her  steel-gray  eyes. 

"Humph!"  she  said,  "I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  I 
ain't  working  for  ye  and  I  never  have  been  no  more 
than  I  ever  worked  for  your  mother.  Every  lick  I  ever 
done  in  this  house  I  done  for  Linda  and  Doctor  Strong 
and  for  nobody  else.  Half  of  this  house  and  everything 
in  it  belongs  to  Linda,  and  it's  a  mortal  short  time  till 
she's  of  age  to  claim  it.  Whichever  is  her  half,  that  half 


KATY  TO  THE  RESCUE  131 

I'll  be  staying  in,  and  if  ye  manage  so  as  she's  got  nothing 
to  pay  me,  I'll  take  care  of  her  without  pay  till  the  day 
comes  when  she  can  take  care  of  me.  Go  to  wid  ye,  ye 
triflin',  lazy,  self-possessed  creature.  Ten  years  I  have 
itched  to  tell  ye  what  I  thought  of  ye,  and  now  ye  know 


it." 


As  Katy's  rage  increased,  Eileen  became  intimidated. 
Like  every  extremely  selfish  person  she  was  a  coward  in 
her  soul. 

"If  you  refuse  to  go  on  my  orders,"  she  said,  "I'll  have 
John  Gilman  issue  his." 

Then  Katy  set  her  left  hand  on  her  left  hip,  her  lower 
jaw  shot  past  the  upper,  her  doubled  right  fist  shook 
precious  near  the  tip  of  Eileen's  exquisite  little  nose. 

"I'm  darin'  ye,"  she  shouted.  "I'm  just  darin'  ye  to 
send  John  Gilman  in  the  sound  of  my  voice.  If  ye  do, 
I'll  tell  him  every  mean  and  selfish  thing  ye've  done  to 
me  poor  lambie  since  the  day  of  the  Black  Shadow.  Send 
him  to  me?  Holy  Mither,  I  wish  ye  would!  If  ever  I 
get  my  chance  at  him,  don't  ye  think  I  won't  be  tellin' 
him  what  he  has  lost,  and  what  he  has  got?  And  as  for 
taking  orders  from  him,  I  am  taking  my  orders  from  the 
person  I  am  working  for,  and  as  I  told  ye  before,  that's 
Miss  Linda.  Be  off  wid  ye,  and  primp  up  while  I  get  my 
supper,  and  mind  ye  this,  if  ye  tell  Miss  Linda  ye  didn't 
mean  that  gown  for  her  and  spoil  the  happy  day  she  has 
had,  I  won't  wait  for  ye  to  send  John  Gilman  to  me;  I'll 
march  straight  to  him.  Put  that  in  your  cigarette  and 
smoke  it!  Think  I've  lost  me  nose  as  well  as  me  sense?" 


132  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Then  Katy  started  a  triumphal  march  to  the  kitchen 
and  cooled  down  by  the  well-known  process  of  slamming 
pots  and  pans  for  half  an  hour.  Soon  her  Irish  sense  of 
humour  came  to  her  rescue. 

"Now,  don't  I  hear  myself  telling  Miss  Linda  a  few 
days  ago  to  kape  her  temper,  and  to  kape  cool,  and  to 
go  aisy.  Look  at  the  aise  of  me  when  I  got  started. 
By  gracious,  wasn't  I  just  itching  to  wallop  her?" 

Then  every  art  that  Katy  possessed  was  bent  to  the 
consummation  of  preparing  a  particularly  delicious  dinner 
for  the  night. 

Linda  came  in  softly  humming  something  to  herself 
about  the  kind  of  shoes  that  you  might  wear  if  you  chose. 
She  had  entered  the  High  School  that  morning  with  an 
unusually  brilliant  colour.  Two  or  three  girls,  who  never 
had  noticed  her  before,  had  nodded  to  her  that  morning, 
and  one  or  two  had  said:  "What  a  pretty  dress  you  have!" 
She  had  caught  the  flash  of  approval  in  the  eyes  of 
Donald  Whiting,  and  she  had  noted  the  flourish  with 
which  he  raised  his  hat  when  he  saw  her  at  a  distance, 
and  she  knew  what  he  meant  when  he  held  up  a  book, 
past  the  covers  of  which  she  could  see  protruding  a 
thick  fold  of  white  paper.  He  had  foresworn  whatever 
pleasure  he  might  have  thought  of  for  Sunday.  He 
had  prepared  notes  on  some  subject  that  he  thought 
would  further  him.  The  lift  of  his  head,  the  flourish  of 
his  hat,  and  the  book  all  told  Linda  that  he  had  struggled, 
and  that  he  felt  the  struggle  had  brought  an  exhilarating 
degree  of  success.  That  had  made  the  day  particularly 


KATY  TO  THE  RESCUE  133 

bright  for  Linda.  She  had  gone  home  with  a  feeling  of 
uplift  and  exultation  in  her  heart.  As  she  closed  the 
front  door  she  cried  up  the  stairway:  "Eileen,  are  you 
there?" 

"Yes,"  answered  a  rather  sulky  voice  from  above. 

Linda  ascended,  two  steps  at  a  bound. 

"Thank  you  over  and  over,  old  thing!"  she  cried  as  she 
raced  down  the  hallway.  "Behold  me!  I  never  did 
have  a  more  becoming  dress,  and  Katy  loaned  me  money, 
till  my  income  begins,  to  get  shoes  and  a  little  scuff  hat 
to  go  with  it.  Aren't  I  spiffy?" 

She  pirouetted  in  the  doorway.  Eileen  gripped  the 
brush  she  was  wielding,  tight. 

"You  have  good  taste,"  she  said.  "It's  a  pretty  dress, 
but  you're  always  howling  about  things  being  suitable. 
Do  you  call  that  suitable  for  school?" 

"It  certainly  is  an  innovation  for  me,"  said  Linda, 
"but  there  are  dozens  of  dresses  of  the  same  material, 
only  different  cut  and  colours,  in  the  High  School  to-day. 
As  soon  as  I  get  my  money  I'll  buy  a  skirt  and  some 
blouses  so  I  won't  have  to  wear  this  all  the  time;  but  I 
surely  do  thank  you  very  much,  and  I  surely  have  had  a 
lovely  day.  Did  you  have  a  nice  time  at  Riverside?" 

Eileen  slammed  down  the  brush  and  turned  almost  a 
distorted  face  to  Linda.  She  had  temper  to  vent.  In  the 
hour's  reflection  previous  to  Linda's  coming,  she  realized 
that  she  had  reached  the  limit  with  Katy.  If  she  antago 
nized  her  by  word  or  look,  she  would  go  to  John  Gilman, 
and  Eileen  dared  not  risk  what  she  would  say. 


134  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"No,  I  did  not  have  a  lovely  time/'  she  said.  "I 
furnished  the  men  for  the  party  and  I  expected  to  have  a 
grand-  time,  but  the  first  thing  we  did  was  to  run  into 
that  inflated  egotist  calling  herself  Mary  Louise  Whiting, 
and  like  a  fool,  Janie  Brunson  introduced  her  to  Peter 
Morrison.  I  had  paired  him  with  Janie  on  purpose  to  keep 
my  eye  on  him." 

Linda  tried  hard  but  she  could  not  suppress  a  chuckle: 
"Of  course  you  would!"  she  murmured  softly. 

Eileen  turned  her  back.  That  had  been  her  first 
confidence  to  Linda.  She  was  so  aggrieved  at  that 
moment  that  she  could  have  told  unanswering  walls  her 
tribulations.  It  would  have  been  better  if  she  had  done 
so.  She  might  have  been  able  to  construe  silence  as 
sympathy.  Linda's  laughter  she  knew  exactly  how  to 
interpret.  "Served  you  right,"  was  what  it  meant. 

"I  hadn't  the  least  notion  you  would  take  an  interest 
in  anything  concerning  me,"  she  said.  "People  can  talk 
all  they  please  about  Mary  Louise  Whiting  being  a  per 
fect  lady  but  she  is  a  perfect  beast.  I  have  met  her 
repeatedly  and  she  has  always  ignored  me,  and  yesterday 
she  singled  out  for  her  special  attention  the  most  desirable 
man  in  my  party 

"'Most  desirable,'"  breathed  Linda.  "Poor  John!  I 
see  his  second  fiasco.  Lavender  crystals,  please!" 

Eileen  caught  her  lip  in  mortification.  She  had  not 
intended  to  say  what  she  thought. 

"Well,  you  can't  claim,"  she  hurried  on  to  cover  her 
confusion,  "that  it  was  not  an  ill-bred,  common  trick  for 


KATY  TO  THE  RESCUE  135 

her  to  take  possession  of  a 'man  of  my  party,  and  utterly 
ignore  me.  She  has  everything  on  earth  that  I  want;  she 
treats  me  like  a  dog,  and  she  could  give  me  a  glorious  time 
by  merely  nodding  her  head." 

"I  am  quite  sure  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Linda, 
"From  what  I've  heard  of  her,  she  wouldn't  mistreat 
any  one.  Very  probably  what  she  does  is  merely  to  feel 
that  she  is  not  acquainted  with  you.  You  have  an  un 
fortunate  way,  Eileen,  of  defeating  your  own  ends.  If 
you  wanted  to  attract  Mary  Louise  Whiting,  you  missed 
the  best  chance  you  ever  could  have  had,  at  three  o'clock 
Saturday  afternoon,  when  you  maliciously  treated  her 
only  brother  as  you  would  a  mechanic,  ordered  him  to 
our  garage,  and  shut  our  door  in  his  face." 

Eileen  turned  to  Linda.  Her  mouth  fell  open.  A 
ghastly  greenish  white  flooded  her  face. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  gasped. 

"I  mean,"  said  Linda,  "that  Donald  Whiting  was 
calling  on  me,  and  you  purposely  sent  him  to  the  garage." 

Crash  down  among  the  vanities  of  Eileen's  dressing  table 
went  her  lovely  head,  and  she  broke  into  deep  and  violent 
sobs.  Linda  stood  looking  at  her  a  second,  slowly  shak 
ing  her  head.  Then  she  turned  and  went  to  her  room. 

Later  in  the  evening  she  remembered  the  Roman  scarf 
and  told  Eileen  of  what  she  had  done,  and  she  was  un 
prepared  for  Eileen's  reply:  "That  scarf  always  was  too 
brilliant  for  me.  You're  welcome  to  it  if  you  want  it." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Linda  gravely,  "I  want  it  very 
much  indeed.'3 


CHAPTER  XI 
ASSISTING  PROVIDENCE 

EDA  went  to  the  library  to  see  to  what  state  of  empti 
ness  it  had  been  reduced  by  the  removal  of  several 
pieces  of  furniture  she  had  ordered  taken  away  that 
day.  As  she  stood  on  the  threshold  looking  over  the  room 
as  usual,  a  throb  of  loving  appreciation  of  Katy  swept 
through  her  heart.  Katy  had  been  there  before  her.  The 
room  had  been  freshly  swept  and  dusted,  the  rugs  had  been 
relaid,  the  furniture  rearranged  skilfully,  and  the  table 
stood  at  the  best  angle  to  be  lighted  either  by  day  or  night. 
On  the  table  and  the  mantel  stood  big  bowls  of  lovely  fresh 
flowers.  Linda  was  quite  certain  that  any  one  entering  the 
room  for  the  first  time  would  have  felt  it  completely  fur 
nished,  and  she  doubted  if  even  Marian  would  notice  the 
missing  pieces.  Cheered  in  her  heart,  she  ran  up  to  the  bil 
liard  room,  and  there  again  Katy  had  preceded  her.  The 
windows  were  shining.  The  walls  and  floor  had  been  cleaned. 
Everything  was  in  readiness  for  the  new  furniture.  Her 
heart  full  of  gratitude,  Linda  went  to  her  room,  prepared 
her  lessons  for  the  next  day,  and  then  drew  out  her  writing 
materials  to  answer  Marian's  letter.  She  wrote: 

I  have  an  acute  attack  of  enlargement  of  the  heart.     So  many 
things  have  happened  since  your  leaving.     But  first  I  must  tell 

136 


ASSISTING  PROVIDENCE  137 

you  about  your  sketch.  We  just  know  you  did  not  leave  it  here. 
Katy  says  there  was  not  a  scrap  in  our  bedroom  when  she 
cleaned  it;  and  as  she  knows  you  make  plans  and  how  precious 
they  are  to  you,  I  guarantee  she  would  have  saved  it  if  she  had 
found  anything  looking  like  a  parallelogram  on  a  piece  of  paper. 
And  I  have  very  nearly  combed  the  lawn,  not  only  the  north  side, 
but  the  west,  south,  and  east;  and  then  I  broke  the  laws  and 
went  over  to  your  house  and  crawled  through  a  basement  win 
dow  and  worked  my  way  up,  and  I  have  hunted  every  room  in 
it,  but  there  is  nothing  there.  You  must  have  lost  that  sketch 
after  you  reached  San  Francisco.  I  hope  to  all  that's  peaceful 
}rou  did  not  lay  it  down  in  the  offices  of  Nicholson  and  Snow,  or 
where  you  take  your  lessons.  I  know  nothing  about  architec 
ture,  but  I  do  know  something  about  comfort  in  a  home,  and  I 
thought  that  was  the  most  comfortable  and  convenient-looking 
house  I  ever  had  seen. 

Now  I'll  go  on  and  tell  you  all  the  news,  and  I  don't  know 
which  is  the  bigger  piece  to  burst  on  you  first.  Would  you  be 
more  interested  in  knowing  that  Peter  Morrison  has  bought 
three  acres  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley  from  us  and  up 
quite  a  way,  or  in  the  astonishing  fact  that  I  have  a  new 
dress,  a  perfect  love  of  a  dress,  really  too  good  for  school?  You 
know  there  was  blood  in  my  eye  when  you  left,  and  I  didn't  wait 
long  to  start  action.  I  have  managed  to  put  the  fear  of  God  in 
to  Eileen's  heart  so  that  she  has  agreed  to  a  reasonable  allow 
ance  for  me  from  the  first  of  next  month;  but  she  must  have  felt 
at  least  one  small  wave  of  contrition  when  I  told  her  about  2 
peculiarly  enticing  dress  I  had  seen  at  The  Mode.  She  sent  it 
up  right  away,  and  Katy,  blessed  be  her  loving  footprints, 
loaned  me  money  to  buy  a  blouse  and  some  shoes  to  match,  so 
I  went  to  school  to-day  looking  very  like  the  Great  General 
Average,  minus  rouge,  lip-stick,  hair-dress,  and  French  heels. 

I  do  hope  you  will  approve  of  two  things  I  have  done. 


138  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Then  Linda  recounted  the  emptying  of  the  billiard 
room,  the  inroads  in  the  library,  the  listing  of  the 
technical  books,  and  what  she  proposed  to  do  with  the 
money.  And  then,  her  face  slightly  pale  and  her  fingers 
slightly  trembling,  she  wrote: 

And,  Marian  dear,  I  hope  you  won't  be  angry  with  me  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  have  put  the  Bear-cat  into  commission  and 
driven  it  three  times  already.  It  is  running  like  the  feline  it  is, 
and  I  am  being  as  careful  as  I  can.  I  know  exactly  how  you  will 
feel.  It  is  the  same  feeling  that  has  held  me  all  these  months, 
when  I  wouldn't  even  let  myself  think  of  it.  But  something 
happened  at  school  one  day,  Marian.  You  know  the  Whitings? 
Mary  Louise  Whiting's  brother  is  in  the  senior  class.  He  is  a 
six-footer,  and  while  he  is  not  handsome  he  is  going  to  be  a  real 
man  when  he  is  fully  developed,  and  steadied  down  to  work. 
One  day  last  week  he  made  it  his  business  to  stop  me  in  the 
hall  and  twit  me  about  my  shoes,  and  incidentally  to  ask  me 
why  I  didn't  dress  like  the  other  girls;  and  some  way  it  came 
rougher  than  if  it  had  been  one  of  the  girls.  The  more  I 
thought  about  it  the  more  wronged  I  felt,  so  I  ended  in  a 
young  revolution  that  is  to  bring  me  an  income,  a  suitable  place 
to  work  in  and  has  brought  me  such  a  pretty  dress.  I  think  it 
has  brought  Eileen  to  a  sense  of  at  least  partial  justice  about 
money,  and  it  brought  me  back  the  Bear-cat.  You  know  the 
proudest  moment  of  my  life  was  when  Father  would  let 
me  drive  the  little  beast,  and  it  all  came  back  as  natural  as 
breathing.  Please  don't  worry,  Marian.  Nothing  shall  happen, 
I  promise  you. 

It  won't  be  necessary  to  tell  you  that  Katy  is  her  darling  old 
self,  loyal  and  steadfast  as  the  sun,  and  quite  as  necessary  and  as 
comforting  to  me.  And  I  have  a  couple  of  other  interests  in  life 
that  are  going  to — I  won't  say  make  up  for  your  absence,  be" 


ASSISTING  PROVIDENCE  139 

cause  nothing  could  do  that — but  they  are  going  to  give  me 
something  interesting  to  think  about,  something  agreeable  to 
work  at,  while  you  are  gone.  But,  oh,  Marian,  do  hurry. 
Work  all  day  and  part  of  the  night.  Be  Saturday's  child  your 
self  if  you  must,  just  so  you  get  home  quick,  and  where  your 
white  head  makes  a  beacon  light  for  the  truest,  lovingest  pal 
you  will  ever  have, 

LINDA. 


Linda  laid  down  the  pen,  slid  down  in  her  chair,  and 
looked  from  the  window  across  the  valley,  and  she  won 
dered  if  in  her  view  lay  the  location  that  had  been  pur 
chased  by  Peter  Morrison.  She  glanced  back  at  her  letter 
and  sat  looking  at  the  closing  lines  and  the  signature. 

"Much  good  that  will  do  her,"  she  commented. 
"When  a  woman  loves  a  man  and  loves  him  with  all  her 
heart,  as  Marian  loved  John,  and  when  she  loses  him, 
not  because  she  has  done  a  single  unworthy  thing  herself, 
but  because  he  is  so  rubber  spined  that  he  will  let  an 
other  woman  successfully  intrigue  him,  a  lot  of  comfort 
she  is  going  to  get  from  the  love  of  a  schoolgirl!" 

Linda's  eyes  strayed  to  the  window  again,  and  travelled 
down  to  the  city  and  up  the  coast,  all  the  way  to  San 
Francisco,  and  out  of  the  thousands  of  homes  there 
they  pictured  a  small,  neat  room,  full  of  Marian's  be 
longings,  and  Marian  herself  bending  over  a  work  table, 
absorbed  in  the  final  draught  of  her  precious  plans. 
Linda  could  see  Marian  as  plainly  as  she  ever  had  seen 
her,  but  she  let  her  imagination  run,  and  she  fancied  that 
when  Marian  was  among  strangers  and  where  no  one 


i4o  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

knew  of  John  Oilman's  defection,  that  hers  might  be  a 
very  heavy  heart,  that  hers  might  be  a  very  sad  face. 
Then  she  went  to  planning.  She  had  been  desolate, 
heart  hungry,  and  isolated  herself.  First  she  had  en 
dured,  then  she  had  fought;  the  dawn  of  a  new  life  was 
breaking  over  her  hill.  She  had  found  work  she  was 
eager  to  do.  She  could  put  the  best  of  her  brain,  the  skill 
of  her  ringers,  the  creative  impulse  of  her  heart,  into  it. 

She  was  almost  sure  that  she  had  found  a  friend.  She 
had  a  feeling  that  when  the  coming  Saturday  had  been 
lived  Donald  Whiting  would  be  her  friend.  He  would 
want  her  advice  and  her  help  in  his  work.  She  would 
want  his  companionship  and  the  stimulus  of  his  mind,  in 
hers.  What  Linda  had  craved  was  a  dear  friend  among 
the  girls,  but  no  girl  had  offered  her  friendship.  This 
boy  had,  so  she  would  accept  what  the  gods  of  time  and 
circumstance  provided.  It  was  a  very  wonderful  thing 
that  had  happened  to  her.  Now  why  could  not  some 
thing  equally  wonderful  happen  to  Marian?  Linda 
wrinkled  her  brows  and  thought  deeply. 

"It's  the  worst  thing  in  all  this  world  to  work  and 
work  with  nobody  to  know  about  it  and  nobody  to 
care,"  thought  Linda.  "Marian  could  break  a  record  if 
she  thought  John  Gilman  cared  now  as  he  used  to.  It's 
almost  a  necessary  element  to  her  success.  If  he  doesn't 
care,  she  ought  to  be  made  to  feel  that  somebody  cares. 
This  thing  of  standing  alone,  since  I  have  found  a  friend, 
appeals  to  me  as  almost  insupportable.  Let  me  think." 

It  was  not  long  until  she  had  worked  out  a  scheme  for 


PROVIDENCE  141 

putting  an  interest  in  Marian's  life  and  giving  her  some 
thing  for  which  to  work,  until  a  more  vital  reality  sup 
planted  it.  The  result  was  that  she  took  some  paper, 
went  down  to  the  library,  and  opening  the  typewriter, 
wrote  a  letter.  She  read  it  over,  making  many  changes 
and  corrections,  and  then  she  copied  it  carefully.  When 
she  came  to  addressing  it  slie  was  uncertain,  but  at 
last  she  hit  upon  a  scheme  of  sending  it  in  the  care  of 
Nicholson  and  Snow  because  Marian  had  told  her  that 
she  meant  to  enter  their  contest  immediately  she  reached 
San  Francisco,  and  she  would  have  left  them  her  address. 
On  the  last  reading  of  the  letter  she  had  written,  she 
decided  that  it  was  a  manly,  straightforward  production, 
which  should  interest  and  attract  any  girl.  But  how 
was  she  to  sign  it  ?  After  thinking  deeply  for  a  long  time, 
she  wrote  "Philip  Sanders,  General  Delivery,"  and  below 
she  added  a  postscript: 

To  save  you  the  trouble  of  inquiring  among  your  friends  as  to 
whom  Philip  Sanders  is,  I  might  as  well  tell  you  in  the  beginning 
that  he  isn't.  He  is  merely  an  assumption  under  which  I  shall 
hide  my  personality  until  you  let  me  know  whether  it  is  possible 
that  you  could  become  even  slightly  interested  in  me,  as  a  small 
return  for  the  very  deep  and  wholesome  interest  abiding  in  my 
heart  for  you. 

"Abiding,"  said  Linda  aloud.  "It  seems  to  me  that 
there  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  quite  so  fine  as  a  word. 
Isn't  'abiding'  a  good  word?  Doesn't  it  mean  a  lot? 
Where  could  you  find  one  other  word  that  means  being 


1 42      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

with  you  and  also  means  comforting  you  and  loving  you 
and  sympathizing  with  you  and  surrounding  you  with 
firm  walls  and  a  cushioned  floor  and  a  starry  roof?  I 
love  that  word.  I  hope  it  impresses  Marian  with  all  its 
wonderful  meaning." 

She  went  back  to  her  room,  put  both  letters  into  her 
Geometry,  and  in  the  morning  mailed  them.  She  stood 
a  long  time  hesitating  with  the  typewritten  letter  in  her 
hand,  but  finally  dropped  it  in  the  letter  box  also. 

"It  will  just  be  something,"  she  said,  "to  make  her 
think  that  some  man  appreciates  her  lovely  face  and 
doesn't  care  if  her  hair  is  white,  and  sees  how  steadfast 
and  fine  she  is." 

And  then  she  slowly  repeated,  "'steadfast',  that  is 
another  fine  word.  It  has  pearls  and  rubies  all  over  it." 

After  school  that  evening  she  visited  James  Brothers' 
and  was  paid  the  full  amount  of  the  appraisement  of  her 
furniture.  Then  she  went  to  an  art  store  and  laid  in  a 
full  supply  of  the  materials  she  needed  for  the  work  she 
was  trying  to  do.  Her  fingers  were  trembling  as  she 
handled  the  boxes  of  water  colours  and  selected  the 
brushes  and  pencils  for  her  work,  and  sheets  of  drawing 
paper  upon  which  she  could  do  herself  justice.  When 
the  transaction  was  finished,  she  had  a  few  dollars  remain 
ing.  As  she  put  them  in  her  pocket  she  said  softly: 

"That's  gasolene.  Poor  Katy!  I'm  glad  she  doesn't 
need  her  money,  because  she  is  going  to  have  to  wait  for 
the  allowance  or  the  sale  of  the  books  or  on  Jane  Meredith. 
But  it's  only  a  few  days  now,  so  that'll  be  all  right," 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND 

1NDA  entered  the  street  car  for  her  daily  ride  to 
Lilac  Valley.  She  noticed  Peter  Morrison  and 
Henry  Anderson  sitting  beside  each  other,  deeply 
engrossed  in  a  drawing.  She  had  been  accustomed  to 
ride  in  the  open  section  of  the  car  as  she  liked  the  fresh 
air.  She  had  a  fleeting  thought  of  entering  the  body  of 
the  car  and  sitting  where  they  would  see  her;  and  then  a 
perverse  spirit  in  Linda's  heart  said  to  her: 

"That  is  precisely  what  Eileen  would  do.  You  sit 
where  you  belong." 

Whereupon  Linda  dropped  into  the  first  vacant  seat 
she  could  reach,  but  it  was  only  a  few  moments  before 
Peter  Morrison,  looking  up  from  the  plans  he  was  studying, 
saw  her,  and  lifting  his  hat,  beckoned  her  to  come  and 
sit  with  him.  They  made  room  for  her  between  them 
and  spreading  the  paper  across  her  lap,  all  three  of  them 
began  to  discuss  the  plans  for  the  foundation  for  Peter's 
house.  Anderson  had  roughly  outlined  the  grounds, 
sketching  in  the  trees  that  were  to  be  saved,  the  spring, 
and  the  most  available  route  for  reaching  the  road.  The 
discussion  was  as  to  where  the  road  should  logically  enter 
the  grounds,  and  where  the  garage  should  stand. 

H3 


i44  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

" Which  reminds  me,"  said  Linda — "haven't  you  your 
car  with  you  ?  Or  was  that  a  hired  one  you  were  touring 
in?" 

"Mine,"  said  Peter  Morrison,  "but  we  toured  so  far, 
it's  in  the  shop  for  a  general  overhauling  to-day." 

"That  being  the  case,"  said  Linda,  "walk  home  with 
me  and  I'll  take  you  to  your  place  in  mine  and  bring  you 
back  to  the  cars,  if  you  only  want  to  stay  an  hour  or  two." 

"Why,  that  would  be  fine,"  said  Peter.  "You  didn't 
mention,  the  other  evening,  that  you  had  a  car." 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "I  had  been  trying  to  keep  cars  out 
of  my  thought  for  a  long  time,  but  I  could  endure  it  no 
longer  the  other  day,  so  I  got  mine  out  and  tuned  it  up. 
If  you  don't  mind  stacking  up  a  bit,  three  can  ride  in  it 
very  comfortably." 

That  was  the  way  it  happened  that  Linda  walked  home 
after  school  that  afternoon  between  Peter  Morrison  and 
his  architect,  brought  out  the  Bear-cat,  and  drove  them 
to  Peter's  location. 

All  that  day,  workmen  had  been  busy  under  the  manage 
ment  of  a  well-instructed  foreman,  removing  trees  and 
bushes  and  stones  and  clearing  the  spot  that  had  been  se 
lected  for  the  garage  and  approximately  for  the  house. 

The  soft  brownish  gray  of  Linda's  dress  was  exactly  the 
colour  to  intensify  the  darker  brown  of  her  eyes.  There 
was  a  fluctuating  red  in  her  olive  cheeks,  a  brilliant  red 
framing  her  e\*en  white  teeth.  Once  dressed  so  that  she 
was  satisfied  with  the  results,  Linda  immediately  forgot 
her  clothes,  and  plunged  into  Morrison's  plans. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND  145 

"Peter,"  she  said  gravely,  with  Peter  perfectly  cog 
nizant  of  the  twinkle  in  her  dark  eyes,  "Peter,  you  may 
save  money  in  a  straight-line  road,  but  you're  going  to 
sin  against  your  soul  if  you  build  it.  You'll  have  to 
economize  in  some  other  way,  and  run  your  road  around 
the  base  of  those  boulders,  then  come  in  straight  to  the 
line  here,  and  then  you  should  swing  again  and  run  out  on 
this  point,  wli2re  guests  can  have  one  bewildering  glimpse 
of  the  length  of  our  blue  valley,  and  then  whip  them 
around  this  clump  of  perfumy  lilac  and  elders,  run  them 
to  your  side  entrance,  and  then  scoot  the  car  back  to 
the  garage.  I  think  you  should  place  the  front  of  your 
house  about  here/'  Linda  indicated  where.  "So  long  as 
you're  buying  a  place  like  this  you  don't  want  to  miss  one 
single  thing;  and  you  do  want  to  make  the  very  most 
possible  out  of  every  beauty  you  have.  And  you  mustn't 
fail  to  open  up  and  widen  the  runway  from  that  energetic, 
enthusiastic  spring.  Carry  it  across  you-r  road,  sure.  It 
will  cost  you  another  little  something  for  a  safe  bridge,  but 
there's  nothing  so  artistic  as  a  bridge  with  a  cold  stream 
running  under  it.  And  think  what  a  joyful  time  I'll  have, 
gathering  specimens  for  you  of  every  pretty  water  plant 
that  grows  in  my  particular  canyon.  Any  time  when 
you're  busy  in  your  library  and  you  hear  my  car  puffing 
up  the  incline  and  around  the  corner  and  rattling  across 
the  bridge,  you'll  know  that  I  am  down  here  giving  you  a 
start  of  watercress  and  miners'  lettuce  and  every  lovely 
thing  you  could  mention  that  likes  to  be  nibbled  or 
loved-up,  while  it  dabbles  its  toes  in  the  w^ater  * 


146  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Peter  Morrison  looked  at  Linda  reflectively.  He 
looked  for  such  a  long  moment  that  Henry  Anderson 
reached  a  nebulous  conclusion.  "Fine!"  he  cried. 
"Every  one  of  those  suggestions  is  valuable  to  an  inex 
perienced  man.  Morrison,  shan't  I  make  a  note  of 
them?" 

"Yes,  Henry,  you  shall,"  said  Peter.  "I  am  going  to 
push  this  thing  as  fast  as  possible,  so  far  as  building  the 
garage  is  concerned  and  getting  settled  in  it.  After  that  I 
don't  care  if  I  live  on  this  spot  until  we  know  each  other 
by  the  inch,  before  I  begin  building  my  home.  At  the 
present  minute  it  appeals  to  me  that  'home'  is  about  the 
best  word  in  the  language  of  any  nation.  I  have  a  feeling 
that  what  I  build  here  is  going  to  be  my  home,  very  pos 
sibly  the  only  one  I  shall  ever  have.  We  must  find  the  spot 
on  which  the  Lord  intended  that  a  house  should  grow  on 
this  hillside,  and  then  we  must  build  that  house  so  that  it 
has  a  room  suitable  for  a  workshop  in  which  I  may  strive, 
under  the  best  conditions  possible,  to  get  my  share  of  the 
joy  of  life  and  to  earn  the  money  that  I  shall  require  to 
support  me  and  entertain  my  friends;  and  that  sounds 
about  as  selfish  as  anything  possibly  could.  It  seems  to  be 
mostly  'me'  and  'mine/  and  it's  not  the  real  truth  con 
cerning  this  house.  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  healthy, 
normal  man  living  who  has  not  his  dream.  I  have  no  hesi 
tation  whatever  in  admitting  that  I  have  mine.  This  house 
must  be  two  things.  It  has  got  to  be  a  concrete  workshop 
for  me,  and  it  has  got  to  be  an  abstract  abiding  place  for  a 
dream.  It's  rather  difficult  to  build  a  dream  house  for  a 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND  147 

dream  lady,  so  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  fist  I  am  going 
to  make  of  it." 

Linda  sat  down  on  a  boulder  and  contemplated  her  shoes 
for  a  minute.  Then  she  raised  her  ever-shifting,  eager, 
young  eyes  to  Peter,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  he  looked 
into  them  that  there  were  little  gold  lights  flickering  at 
the  bottom  of  their  darkness. 

"Why,  that's  just  as  easy,"  she  said.  "A  home  is 
merely  a  home.  It  includes  a  front  porch  and  a  back 
porch  and  a  fireplace  and  a  bathtub  and  an  ice  chest 
and  a  view  and  a  garden  around  it;  all  the  rest  is  in 
cidental.  If  you  have  more  money,  you  have  more 
incidentals.  If  you  don't  have  so  much,  you  use  your 
imagination  and  think  you  have  just  as  much  on  less." 

"Now,  I  wonder,"  said  Peter,  "when  I  find  my  dream 
lady,  if  she  will  have  an  elastic  imagination." 

"Haven't  you  found  her  yet?"  asked  Linda  casually. 

"No,"  said  Peter,  "I  haven't  found  her,  and  unfortu 
nately  she  hasn't  found  me.  I  have  had  a  strenuous  time 
getting  my  start  in  life.  It's  mostly  a  rush  from  one 
point  of  interest  to  another,  dropping  at  any  wayside 
station  for  refreshment  and  the  use  of  a  writing  table. 
Occasionally  I  have  seen  a  vision  that  I  have  wanted  to 
follow,  but  I  never  have  had  time.  So  far,  the  lady  of 
this  house  is  even  more  of  a  dream  than  the  house." 

"Oh,  well,  don't  worry,"  said  Linda  comfortingly. 
"The  world  is  full  of  the  nicest  girls.  When  you  get 
ready  for  a  gracious  lady  I'll  find  you  one  that  will  have 
an  India-rubber  imagination  and  a  great  big  loving 


14*  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

heart  and  Indian-hemp  apron  strings  so  that  half  a  dozen 
babies  can  swing  from  them." 

Morrison  turned  to  Henry  Anderson. 

"You  hear,  Henry?"  he  said.  "I'm  destined  to  have  a 
large  family.  You  must  curtail  your  plans  for  the 
workroom  and  make  that  big  room  back  of  it  into  a 
nursery." 

"Well,  what  I  am  going  to  do,"  said  Henry  Anderson, 
"is  to  build  a  place  suitable  for  your  needs.  If  any  dream 
woman  comes  to  it,  she  will  have  to  fit  herself  to  her 


environment." 


Linda  frowned. 

"Now,  that  isn't  a  bit  nice  of  you,"  she  said,  "and  I 
don't  believe  Peter  will  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  you. 
He'll  let  me  make  you  build  a  lovely  room  for  the  love  of 
his  heart,  and  a  great  big  bright  nursery  on  the  sunny  side 
for  his  small  people." 

"I  never  believed,"  said  Henry  Anderson,  "in  counting 
your  chickens  before  they  are  hatched.  There  are  a 
couple  of  acres  around  Peter's  house,  and  he  can  build 
an  addition  as  his  needs  increase." 

"Messy  idea,"  said  Linda  promptly.  "Thing  to  do, 
when  you  build  a  house,  is  to  build  it  the  way  you  want  it 
for  the  remainder  of  your  life,  so  you  don't  have  to  tear 
up  the  scenery  every  few  years,  dragging  in  lumber  for 
expansion.  And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing.  If  the  home- 
makers  of  this  country  don't  get  the  idea  into  their  heads 
pretty  soon  that  they  are  not  going  to  be  able  to  hold  their 
own  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  with  no  children,  or  one 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND  149 

child  in  the  family,  there's  a  sad  day  of  reckoning  coming. 
With  the  records  at  the  patent  office  open  to  the  world, 
you  can't  claim  that  the  brain  of  the  white  man  is  not 
constructive.  You  can  look  at  our  records  and  compare 
them  with  those  of  countries  ages  and  ages  older  than  we 
are,  which  never  discovered  the  beauties  of  a  Dover  egg- 
beater  or  a  washing  machine  or  a  churn  or  a  railroad  or  a 
steamboat  or  a  bridge.  We  are  head  and  shoulders  above 
other  nations  in  invention,  and  just  as  fast  as  possible,  we 
are  falling  behind  in  the  birth  rate.  The  red  man  and  the 
yellow  man  and  the  brown  man  and  the  black  man  can  look 
at  our  egg-beaters  and  washing  machines  and  bridges  and 
big  guns,  and  go  home  and  copy  them;  and  use  them 
while  rearing  even  bigger  families  than  they  have  now. 
If  every  home  in  Lilac  Valley  had  at  least  six  sturdy 
boys  and  girls  growing  up  in  it  with  the  proper  love  of 
country  and  the  proper  realization  of  the  white  man's 
right  to  supremacy,  and  if  all  the  world  now  occupied  by 
white  men  could  make  an  equal  record,  where  would  be 
the  talk  of  the  yellow  peril?  There  wouldn't  be  any 
yellow  peril.  You  see  what  I  mean?" 

Linda  lifted  her  frank  eyes  to  Peter  Morrison. 

"Yes,  young  woman,"  said  Peter  gravely,  "I  see  what 
you  mean,  but  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  a  high- 
school  kid  propound  such  ideas.  Where  did  you  get 
them?" 

"Got  them  in  Multiflores  Canyon  from  my  father  to 
start  with,"  said  Linda,  "but  recently  I  kave  been  think 
ing,  because  there  is  a  boy  in  High  School  who  is  making 


ISO  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

a  great  fight  for  a  better  scholarship  record  than  a  Jap  in 
his  class.  I  brood  over  it  every  spare  minute,  day  or 
night,  and  when  I  say  my  prayers  I  implore  high  Heaven 
to  send  him  an  idea  or  to  send  me  one  that  I  can  pass  on 
to  him,  that  will  help  him  to  beat  that  Jap." 

"I  see,"  said  Peter  Morrison.  " We'll  have  to  take 
time  to  talk  this  over.  It's  barely  possible  I  might  be 
able  to  suggest  something." 

"You  let  that  kid  fight  his  own  battles,"  said  Henry 
Anderson  roughly.  "He's  no  proper  bug-catcher.  I 
feel  it  in  my  bones." 

For  the  first  time,  Linda's  joy  laugh  rang  over  Peter 
Morrison's  possession. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  she  said  gaily.  "He's  a 
wide-awake  specimen;  he  has  led  his  class  for  four  years 
when  the  Jap  didn't  get  ahead  of  him.  But,  all  foolish 
ness  aside,  take  my  word  for  it,  Peter,  you'll  be  sorry  if 
you  don't  build  this  house  big  enough  for  your  dream  lady 
and  for  all  the  little  dreams  that  may  spring  from  her 
heart." 

"Nightmares,  you  mean,"  said  Henry  Anderson.  "I 
can't  imagine  a  bunch  of  kids  muddying  up  this  spring 
and  breaking  the  bushes  and  using  sling  shots  on  the 
birds." 

"Yes,"  said  Linda  with  scathing  sarcasm,  "and 
wouldn't  our  government  be  tickled  to  death  to  have  a 
clear  spring  and  a  perfect  bush  and  a  singing  bird,  if  it 
needed  six  men  to  go  over  the  top  to  handle  a  regiment  of 
Japanese!" 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND  151 

Then  Peter  Morrison  laughed. 

"Well,  your  estimate  is  too  low,  Linda,"  he  said  in  his 
nicest  drawling  tone  of  voice.  "Believe  me,  one  U.  S. 
kid  will  never  march  in  a  whole  regiment  of  Japanese. 
They  won't  lay  down  their  guns  and  walk  to  surrender 
as  bunches  of  Germans  did.  Nobody  need  ever  think 
that.  They  are  as  good  fighters  as  they  are  imitators. 
There's  nothing  for  you  to  do,  Henry,  but  to  take  to  heart 
what  Miss  Linda  has  said.  Plan  the  house  with  a  suite 
for  a  dream  lady,  and  a  dining  room,  a  sleeping  porch 
and  a  nursery  big  enough  for  the  six  children  allotted 


to  me." 


"You're  not  really  in  earnest?"  asked  Henry  Anderson 
in  doubting  astonishment.  ' 

"I  am  in  the  deepest  kind  of  earnest,"  said  Peter  Morri 
son.  "What  Miss  Linda  says  is  true.  As  a  nation,  our 
people  are  pampering  themselves  and  living  for  their  own 
pleasures.  They  won't  take  the  trouble  or  endure  the 
pain  required  to  bear  and  to  rear  children;  and  the  day  is 
rolling  toward  us,  with  every  turn  of  the  planet  one  day 
closer,  when  we  are  going  to  be  outnumbered  by  a  combi 
nation  of  peoples  who  can  take  our  own  tricks  and  beat  us 
with  them.  We  must  pass  along  the  good  word  that  the 
one  thing  America  needs  above  every  other  thing  on  earth 
is  homes  and  hearts  big  enough  for  children,  as  were  the 
homes  of  our  grandfathers,  when  no  joy  in  life  equalled 
the  joy  of  a  new  child  in  the  family,  and  if  you  didn't 
have  a  dozen  you  weren't  doing  your  manifest  duty." 

"Well,  if  that  is  the  way  you  see  the  light,  we  must 


152  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

enlarge  this  house.  As  designed,  it  included  every  femi 
nine  convenience  anyway.  But  when  I  build  my  house 
I  am  going  to  build  it  for  myself." 

"Then  don't  talk  any  more  about  being  my  bug- 
catcher,"  said  Linda  promptly,  "because  when  I  build 
my  house  it's  going  to  be  a  nest  that  will  hold  six  at  the 
very  least.  My  heart  is  perfectly  set  on  a  brood  of  six." 

Linda  was  quite  unaware  that  the  two  men  were  study 
ing  her  closely,  but  if  she  had  known  what  was  going  on 
in  their  minds  she  would  have  had  nothing  to  regret,  be 
cause  both  of  them  found  her  very  attractive,  and  both 
of  them  were  wondering  how  anything  so  superficial  as 
Eileen  could  be  of  the  same  blood  as  Linda. 

"Are  we  keeping  you  too  late?"  inquired  Peter. 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "I  am  as  interested  as  I  can  be. 
Finish  everything  you  want  to  do  before  we  go.  I  hope 
you're  going  to  let  me  come  over  often  and  watch  you 
with  your  building.  Maybe  I  can  get  an  idea  for  some 
things  I  want  to  do.  Eileen  and  I  have  our  house  divided 
by  a  Mason  and  Dixon  line.  On  her  side  is  Mother's  suite, 
the  dining  room,  the  living  room  and  the  front  door.  On 
mine  there's  the  garage  and  the  kitchen  and  Katy's  bed 
room  and  mine  and  the  library  and  the  billiard  room.  At 
the  present  minute  I  am  interested  in  adapting  the  library 
to  my  requirements  instead  of  Father's,  and  I  am  empty 
ing  the  billiard  room  and  furnishing  it  to  make  a  work 
room.  I  have  a  small  talent  with  a  brush  and  pencil, 
and  I  need  some  bare  walls  to  tack  my  prints  on  to  dry, 
and  I  need  numerous  places  for  all  the  things  I  am  always 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND  153 

dragging  in  from  the  desert  and  the  canyons;  and  since  I 
have  the  Bear-cat  running,  what  I  have  been  doing  in 
that  line  with  a  knapsack  won't  be  worthy  of  mention." 

"How  did  it  come,"  inquired  Henry  Anderson,  "that 
you  had  that  car  jacked  up  so  long?" 

"Why,  hasn't  anybody  told  you,"  asked  Linda,  "about 
our  day  of  the  Black  Shadow?" 

"John  Gilman  wrote  me  when  it  happened,"  said 
Peter  softly,  "but  I  don't  believe  it  has  been  mentioned 
before  Henry.  You  tell  him." 

Linda  turned  to  Henry  Anderson,  and  with  trembling 
lips  and  paling  cheeks,  in  a  few  brief  sentences  she  gave 
him  the  details.  Then  she  said  to  Peter  Morrison  in  a  low 
voice:  "And  that  is  the  why  of  Marian  Thome's  white 
head.  Anybody  tell  you  that?" 

"That  white  head  puzzled  me  beyond  anything  I  ever 
saw,"  he  said.  "I  meant  to  ask  John  about  it.  He  used 
to  talk  to  me  and  write  to  me  often  about  her,  and  lately 
he  hasn't;  when  I  came  I  saw  the  reason,  and  so  you  see  I 
felt  reticent  on  the  subject." 

"Well,  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  my  tongue," 
said  Linda.  "It's  loose  at  both  ends.  Marian  was  an 
expert  driver.  She  drove  with  the  same  calm  judgment 
and  precision  and  graceful  skill  that  she  does  everything 
dse,  but  the  curve  was  steep  and  something  in  the 
Brakes  was  defective.  It  broke  with  a  snap  and  there  was 
net  a  thing  she  could  do.  Enough  was  left  of  the  re 
mains  of  the  car  to  prove  that.  Ten  days  afterward  her 
head  was  almost  as  white  as  snow.  Before  that  it  was  as 


i54  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

dark  as  mine.  But  her  body  is  just  as  young  and  her 
heart  is  just  as  young  and  her  face  is  even  more  beautiful. 
I  do  think  that  a  white  crown  makes  her  lovelier  than  she 
was  before.  I  have  known  Marian  ever  since  I  can  re 
member,  and  I  don't  know  one  thing  about  her  that  I 
could  not  look  you  straight  in  the  eye  and  tell  you  all 
about.  There  is  not  a  subterfuge  or  an  evasion  or  a  small 
mean  deceit  in  her  soul.  She  is  the  brainiest  woman  and 
the  biggest  woman  I  know." 

"I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Peter  Morrison.  "And 
while  you  are  talking  about  nice  women,  we  met  a  mighty 
fine  one  at  Riverside  on  Sunday.  Her  name  is  Mary 
Louise  Whiting.  Do  you  know  her  ? " 

"Not  personally,"  said  Linda.  "I  don't  recall  that  I 
ever  saw  her.  I  know  her  brother,  Donald.  He  is  the 
high-school  boy  who  is  having  the  wrestle  with  the 

Jap." 

"I  liked  her  too,"  said  Henry  Anderson.  "And  by 
the  way,  Miss  Linda,  haven't  bug-catchers  any  reputation 
at  all  as  nest  builders?  Is  it  true  that  among  feathered 
creatures  the  hen  builds  the  home?" 

"No,  it's  not,"  said  Linda  promptly.  "Male  birds 
make  a  splendid  record  canning  nest  material.  What  is 
true  is  that  in  the  majority  of  cases  the  female  does  the 
building." 

"Well,  what  I  am  getting  at,"  said  Henry  Anderson, 
"is  this.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you  with 
that  billiard  room  that  you're  going  to  convert  to  a  work 
room.  What  do  you  lack  in  it  that  you  would  like  to 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND  155 

have?  Do  you  need  more  light  or  air,  or  a  fireplace,  or 
what?  When  you  take  us  to  the  station,  suppose  you 
drive  us  past  your  house  and  give  me  a  look  at  that  room 
and  let  me  think  over  it  a  day  or  two.  I  might  be  able 
to  make  some  suggestion  that  would  help  you." 

"Now  that  is  positively  sweet  of  you,"  said  Linda.  "I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  either  comfort  or  con 
venience.  I  thought  I  had  to  take  that  room  as  it  stands 
and  do  the  best  I  could  with  it,  but  since  you  mention  it, 
it's  barely  possible  that  more  air  might  be  agreeable  and 
also  more  light,  and  if  there  could  be  a  small  fireplace  built 
in  front  of  the  chimney  where  it  goes  up  from  the  library 
fireplace,  it  certainly  would  be  a  comfort,  and  it  would 
add  something  to  the  room  that  nothing  else  could. 
No  workroom  really  has  a  soul  if  you  can't  smell  smoke 
and  see  red  when  you  go  to  it  at  night." 

"You  little  outdoor  heathen,"  laughed  Peter  Morrison. 
"One  would  think  you  were  an  Indian." 

"I  am  a  fairly  good  Indian,"  said  Linda.  "I  have  been 
scouting  around  with  my  father  a  good  many  years. 
How  about  it,  Peter?  Does  the  road  go  crooked?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peter,  "the  road  goes  crooked." 

"Does  the  bed  of  the  spring  curve  and  sweep  across  the 
lawn  and  drop  off  to  the  original  stream  below  the  tree- 
tobacco  clump  there?" 

"If  you  say  so,  it  does,"  said  Peter. 

"Including  the  bridge?"  inquired  Linda. 

"Including  the  bridge,"  said  Peter.  "I'll  have  to  burn 
some  midnight  oil,  but  I  can  visualize  the  bridge." 


156  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"And  is  this  house  where  you  'set  up  your  rest,'  as 
you  so  beautifully  said  the  other  night  at  dinner,  going 
to  lay  its  corner  stone  and  grow  to  its  roof  a  selfish  house, 
or  is  it  going  to  be  generous  enough  for  a  gracious  lady 
and  a  flight  of  little  footsteps  ? " 

Peter  Morrison  took  off  his  hat.  He  turned  his  face 
toward  the  length  of  Lilac  Valley  and  stood,  very  tall 
and  straight,  looking  far  away  before  him.  Presently 
he  looked  down  at  Linda. 

"Even  so,"  he  said  softly.  "My  shoulders  are  broad 
enough;  I  have  a  brain;  and  I  am  not  afraid  to  work.  If 
my  heart  is  not  quite  big  enough  yet,  I  see  very  clearly  how 
it  can  be  made  to  expand." 

"I  have  been  told,"  said  Linda  in  a  low  voice,  "that 
Mary  Louise  Whiting  is  a  perfect  darling." 

Peter  looked  at  her  from  the  top  of  her  black  head  to 
the  tips  of  her  brown  shoes.  He  could  have  counted  the 
freckles  bridging  her  nose.  The  sunburn  on  her  cheeks 
was  very  visible;  there  was  something  arresting  in  the 
depth  of  her  eyes,  the  curve  of  her  lips,  the  lithe  slender- 
ness  of  her  young  body;  she  gave  the  effect  of  something 
smouldering  inside  that  would  leap  at  a  breath. 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  Miss  Whiting,"  he  said  soberly. 

Henry  Anderson  was  watching.  Now  he  turned  his 
back  and  commenced  talking  about  plans,  but  in  his 
heart  he  said:  "So  that's  the  lay  of  the  land.  You've  got 
to  hustle  yourself,  Henry,  or  you  won't  have  the  ghost 
of  a  show." 

Later,  when  they  motored  down  the  valley  and  stopped 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND  157 

at  the  Strong  residence,  Peter  refused  to  be  monopolized 
by  Eileen.  He  climbed  the  two  flights  of  stairs  with 
Henry  Anderson  and  Linda  and  exhausted  his  fund  of 
suggestions  as  to  what  could  be  done  to  that  empty  billiard 
room  to  make  an  attractive  study  of  it.  Linda  listened 
quietly  to  all  their  suggestions,  and  then  she  said: 

"It  would  be  fine  to  have  another  window,  and  a  small 
skylight  would  be  a  dream,  and  as  for  the  fireplace  you 
mention,  I  can't  even  conceive  how  great  it  would  be  to 
have  that;  but  my  purse  is  much  more  limited  than  Peter's, 
and  while  I  have  my  school  work  to  do  every  day,  my 
earning  capacity  is  nearly  negligible.  I  can  only  pick  up  a 
bit  here  and  there  with  my  brush  and  pencil — place  cards 
and  Easter  cards  and  valentines,  and  once  or  twice  maga 
zine  covers,  and  little  things  like  that.  I  don't  see  my  way 
clear  to  lumber  and  glass  and  bricks  and  chimney  pieces." 

Peter  looked  at  Henry,  and  Henry  looked  at  Peter,  and 
a  male  high  sign,  ancient  as  day,  passed  between  them. 

"Easiest  thing  in  the  world,"  said  Peter.  "It's  as  sure 
as  shooting  that  when  my  three  or  four  fireplaces,  which 
Henry's  present  plans  call  for,  are  builded,  there  is  going 
to  be  all  the  material  left  that  can  be  used  in  a  light  tiny 
fireplace  such  as  could  be  built  on  a  third  floor,  and  when 
the  figuring  for  the  house  is  done  it  could  very  easily 
include  the  cutting  of  a  skylight  and  an  extra  window  or 
two  here,  and  getting  the  material  in  with  my  stuff,  it 
would  cost  you  almost  nothing." 

Linda's  eyes  opened  wide  and  dewy  with  surprise  and 
pleasure. 


1 58      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Why,  you  two  perfectly  nice  men!"  she  said.  "I 
haven't  felt  as  I  do  this  minute  since  I  lost  Daddy. 
It's  wonderful  to  be  taken  care  of.  It's  better  than 
cream  puffs  with  almond  flavouring." 

Henry  Anderson  looked  at  Linda  keenly. 

"You're  the  darndest  kid!"  he  said.  "One  minute 
you're  smacking  your  lips  over  cream  puffs,  and  the 
next  you're  going  to  the  bottom  of  the  yellow  peril.  I 
never  before  saw  your  combination  in  one  girl.  What's 
the  explanation?"  For  the  second  time  that  evening 
Linda's  specialty  in  rapture  floated  free. 

"  Bunch  ail  the  component  parts  into  the  one  paramount 
fact  that  I  am  Saturday's  child,"  she  said,  "so  I  am  con 
stantly  on  the  job  of  working  for  a  living,  and  then  add  to 
that  the  fact  that  I  was  reared  by  a  nerve  specialist." 

Then  they  went  downstairs,  and  the  men  refused  both 
Eileen's  and  Linda's  invitation  to  remain  for  dinner. 
When  they  had  gone  Eileen  turned  to  Linda  with  a  dis 
contented  and  aggrieved  face. 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  holy,  what  are  you  doing 
or  planning  to  do?"  she  demanded. 

"Not  anything  that  will  cost  you  a  penny  beyond 
my  natural  rights,"  said  Linda  quietly. 

"That  is  not  answering  my  question,"  said  Eileen. 
"You're  not  of  age  and  you're  still  under  the  authority 
of  a  guardian.  If  you  can't  answer  me,  possibly  you  can 
him.  Shall  I  send  John  Oilman  to  ask  what  I  want  to 
know  of  you?" 

"When  did  I  ever  ask  you  any  questions  about  what 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAND  159 

you  chose  to  do?"  asked  Linda.  "I  am  merely  following 
the  example  that  you  have  previously  set  me.  John 
Gilman  and  I  used  to  be  great  friends.  It  might  help  both 
of  us  to  have  a  family  reunion.  Send  him  by  all  means. " 

"You  used  to  take  pride,"  suggested  Eileen,  "in  leading 
your  class." 

"And  has  any  one  told  you  that  I  am  not  leading  my 
class  at  the  present  minute?"  asked  Linda. 

"No,"  said  Eileen,  "but  what  I  want  to  point  out  to 
you  is  that  the  minute  you  start  running  with  the  boys 
you  will  quit  leading  your  class." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,"  said  Linda  quietly.  "I'm  not 
built  that  way.  I  shan't  concentrate  on  any  boy  to  the 
exclusion  of  chemistry  and  geometry,  never  fear  it." 

Then  she  thoughtfully  ascended  the  stairs  and  went  to 
work. 

Eileen  went  to  her  room  and  sat  down  to  think;  and  the 
more  she  thought,  the  deeper  grew  her  anger  and  cha 
grin;  and  to  the  indifference  that  always  had  existed  in 
her  heart  concerning  Linda  was  added  in  that  moment  a 
new  element.  She  was  jealous  of  her.  How  did  it  come 
that  a  lanky,  gangling  kid  in  her  teens  had  been  paid  a 
visit  by  the  son  of  possibly  the  most  cultured  and  influ 
ential  family  of  the  city,  people  of  prestige,  comfortable 
wealth,  and  unlimited  popularity?  For  four  years  she 
had  struggled  to  gain  an  entrance  in  some  way  into 
Louise  Whiting's  intimate  circle  of  friends,  and  she  had 
ended  by  shutting  the  door  on  the  only  son  of  the 
family.  And  why  had  she  ever  allowed  Linda  to  keep 


160  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

the  runabout.  It  was  not  proper  that  a  young  girl 
should  own  a  high-powered  car  like  that.  It  was  not 
proper  that  she  should  drive  it  and  go  racing  around  the 
country,  heaven  knew  where,  and  with  heaven  knew 
whom.  Eileen  bit  her  lip  until  it  almost  bled.  Her 
eyes  were  hateful  and  her  hands  were  nervous  as  she  re 
viewed  the  past  week.  She  might  think  any  mean  thing 
that  a  mean  brain  could  conjure  up,  but  when  she  calmed 
down  to  facts  she  had  to  admit  that  there  was  not  a 
reason  in  the  world  why  Linda  should  not  drive  the  car 
she  had  driven  for  her  father,  or  why  she  should  not  take 
with  her  Donald  Whiting  or  Peter  Morrison  or  Henry 
Anderson.  The  thing  that  rankled  was  that  the  car  be 
longed  to  Linda.  The  touring  car  which  she  might  have 
owned  and  driven,  had  she  so  desired,  lay  in  an  extremely 
slender  string  of  pearls  around  her  neck  at  that  instant. 
She  reflected  that  if  she  had  kept  her  car  and  made  herself 
sufficiently  hardy  to  drive  it,  she  might  have  been  the  one 
to  have  taken  Peter  Morrison  to  his  home  location  and  to 
have  had  many  opportunities  for  being  with  him. 

"I've  been  a  fool,"  said  Eileen,  tugging  at  the  pearls 
viciously.  "They  are  nothing  but  a  little  bit  of  a  string 
that  looks  as  if  I  were  trying  to  do  something  and  couldn't, 
at  best.  What  I've  got  to  do  is  to  think  more  of  myself. 
I've  got  to  plan  some  way  to  prevent  Linda  from  being 
too  popular  until  I  really  get  my  mind  made  up  as  to  what 
I  want  to  do." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE 

A  HOUSE  that  is  divided  against  itself  cannot 
stand,"  quoted  Linda.  "I  must  keep  in  mind 
what  Eileen  said,  not  that  there  is  the  slightest 
danger,  but  to  fall  behind  in  my  grades  is  a  thing  that 
simply  must  not  happen.  If  it  be  true  that  Peter  and 
Henry  can  so  easily  and  so  cheaply  add  a  few  improvements 
in  my  workroom  in  connection  with  Peter's  building,  I 
can  see  no  reason  why  they  shouldn't  do  it,  so  long  as  I  pay 
for  it.  I  haven't  a  doubt  but  that  there  will  be  something 
I  can  do  for  Peter,  before  he  finishes  his  building,  that  he 
would  greatly  appreciate,  while,  since  I'm  handy  with 
my  pencil,  I  might  be  able  to  make  a  few  head  and 
tail  pieces  for  some  of  his  articles  that  would  make  them 
more  attractive.  I  don't  want  to  use  any  friend  of 
mine:  I  don't  want  to  feel  that  I  am  not  giving  quite  as 
much  as  I  get,  but  I  think  I  see  my  way  clear,  between 
me  and  the  Bear-cat,  to  pay  for  all  the  favours  I  would 
receive  in  altering  my  study. 

"First  thing  I  do  I  must -go  through  Father's  books  and 
get  the  money  for  them,  so  I'll  know  my  limitation  when  I 
come  to  select  furniture.  And  I  don't  know  that  I  am  going 
to  be  so  terribly  modest  when  it  comes  to  naming  the  sum 

161 


162  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

with  which  I'll  be  satisfied  for  my  allowance.  Possibly 
I  shall  exercise  my  age-old  prerogative  and  change  my 
mind;  I  may  just  say  'half  right  out  loud  and  stick  to 
it.  And  there's  another  thing.  Since  the  editor  of  Every 
body's  Home  has  started  my  department  and  promised 
that  if  it  goes  well  he  will  give  it  to  me  permanently,  I 
can  certainly  depend  on  something  from  that.  He  has 
used  my  Introduction  and  two  instalments  now.  I 
should  think  it  might  be  fair  to  talk  payments  pretty  soon. 
He  should  give  me  fifty  dollars  for  a  recipe  with  its  per 
fectly  good  natural  history  and  embellished  with  my  own 
vegetable  and  floral  decorations. 

"In  the  meantime  I  think  I  might  buy  my  work  table 
and  possibly  an  easel,  so  I  can  have  real  room  to  spread 
out  my  new  material  and  see  how  it  would  feel  to  do 
one  drawing  completely  unhampered.  I'll  order  the  table 
to-night,  and  then  I'll  begin  on  the  books,  because  I 
must  have  Saturday  free;  and  I  must  be  thinking  about 
the  most  attractive  and  interesting  place  I  can  take 
Donald  to.  I  just  have  to  keep  him  interested  until  he  gets 
going  of  his  own  accord,  because  he  shall  beat  Oka  Sayye. 
I  wouldn't  let  Donald  say  it  but  I  don't  mind  saying  my 
self  to  myself  with  no  one  present  except  myself  that  in  all 
my  life  I  have  never  seen  anything  so  mask-like  as  the 
stolid  little  square  head  on  that  Jap.  I  have  never  seen 
anything  I  dislike  more  than  the  oily,  stiff,  black  hair 
standing  up  on  it  like  menacing  bristles.  I  have  never 
had  but  one  straight  look  deep  into  his  eyes,  but  in  that 
look  I  saw  the  only  thing  that  ever  frightened  me  in 


LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE       163 

looking  into  a  man's  eyes  in  my  whole  life.  And 
there  is  one  thing  that  I  have  to  remember  to  caution 
Donald  about.  He  must  carry  on  this  contest  in  a 
perfectly  open,  fair,  and  above-board  way,  and  he  simply 
must  not  antagonize  Oka  Sayye.  There  are  so  many  of 
the  Japs.  They  all  look  so  much  alike,  and  there's  a 
blood  brotherhood  between  them  that  will  make  them 
protect  each  other  to  the  death  against  any  white  man. 
It  wouldn't  be  safe  for  Donald  to  make  Oka  Sayye  hate 
him.  He  had  far  better  try  to  make  him  his  friend  and 
put  a  spirit  of  honest  rivalry  into  his  heart;  but  come  to 
think  of  it,  there  wasn't  anything  like  that  in  my  one 
look  into  Oka  Sayye's  eyes.  I  don't  know  what  it  was, 
but  whatever  it  was  it  was  something  repulsive." 

With  this  thought  in  her  mind  Linda  walked  slowly  as 
she  approached  the  Kigh  School  the  next  time.  Far  down 
the  street,  over  the  walks  and  across  the  grounds,  her  eyes 
were  searching  eagerly  for  the  tall  slender  figure  of  Donald 
Whiting.  She  did  not  see  him  in  the  morning,  but  at 
noon  she  encountered  him  in  the  hall. 

"Looking  for  you,"  he  cried  gaily  when  he  saw  her. 
"I've  got  my  pry  in  on  Trig.  The  professor's  interested. 
Dad  fished  out  an  old  Trig  that  he  used  when  he  was 
a  boy  and  I  have  some  new  angles  that  will  keep  my 
esteemed  rival  stirring  up  his  gray  matter  for  some  little 


time." 


"Good  for  you!  Joyous  congratulations!  You've  got 
the  idea!"  cried  Linda.  "Go  to  it!  Start  something  all 
along  the  line,  but  make  it  something  founded  on  brains 


164  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

and  reason  and  common  sense.  But,  Donald,  I  was 
watching  for  you.  I  wanted  to  say  a  word." 

Donald  Whiting  bent  toward  her.  The  faintest  sus 
picion  of  a  tinge  of  colour  crept  into  his  cheeks. 

"That's  fine,"  he  said.     "What  was  it  you  wanted?" 

"Only  this,"  she  said  in  almost  a  breathless  whisper. 
"There  is  nothing  in  California  I  am  afraid  of  except  a  Jap, 
and  I  am  afraid  of  them,  not  potentially,  not  on  account 
of  what  all  of  us  know  they  are  planning  in  the  backs  of 
their  heads  for  the  future,  but  right  here  and  now,  person 
ally  and  physically.  Don't  antagonize  Oka  Sayye.  Don't 
be  too  precipitate  about  what  you're  trying  to  do.  Try 
to  make  it  appear  that  you're  developing  ideas  for  the 
interest  and  edification  of  the  whole  class.  Don't  incur 
his  personal  enmity.  Use  tact." 

"You  think  I  am  afraid  of  that  little  jiu-jitsu?"  he 
scoffed.  "I  can  lick  him  with  one  hand." 

"I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Linda,  measuring  his 
height  and  apparent  strength  and  fitness.  "I  haven't  a 
doubt  of  it.  But  let  me  ask  you  this  confidentially: 
Have  you  got  a  friend  who  would  slip  in  and  stab  him  in 
the  back  in  case  you  were  in  an  encounter  and  he  was 
getting  the  better  of  you?" 

Donald  Whiting's  eyes  widened.  He  looked  at  Linda 
amazed. 

"Wouldn't  that  be  going  rather  far?"  he  asked.  "I 
think  I  have  some  fairly  good  friends  among  the  fellows, 
but  I  don't  know  just  whom  I  would  want  to  ask  to  do  me 
that  small  favour." 


LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE       165 

"That  is  precisely  the  point/*  cried  Linda.  "You 
haven't  a  friend  you  would  ask;  and  you  haven't  a  friend 
who  would  do  it,  if  you  did.  But  don't  believe  for  one 
second  that  Oka  Sayye  hasn't  half  a  dozen  who  would 
make  away  with  you  at  an  unexpected  time  and  in  a 
secluded  place,  and  vanish,  if  it  would  in  any  way  further 
Oka  Sayye's  ambition,  or  help  establish  the  supremacy  of 
the  Japanese  in  California." 

"Um-hm,"  said  Donald  Whiting. 

He  was  looking  far  past  Linda  and  now  his  eyes  were 
narrowed  in  thought.  "I  believe  you're  right  about  it." 

"I've  thought  of  you  so  often  since  I  tried  to  spur  you 
to  beat  Oka  Sayye,"  said  Linda.  "I  feel  a  sort  of  respon 
sibility  for  you.  It's  to  the  honour  and  glory  of  all 
California,  and  the  United  States,  and  the  white  race  every 
where  for  you  to  beat  him,  but  if  any  harm  should  come 
to  you  I  would  always  feel  that  I  shouldn't  have  urged  it." 

"Now  that's  foolishness,"  said  Donald  earnestly.  "If 
I  am  such  a  dub  that  I  didn't  have  the  ambition  to  think 
up  some  way  to  beat  a  Jap  myself,  no  matter  what  happens 
you  shouldn't  regret  having  been  the  one  to  point  out  to 
me  my  manifest  duty.  Dad  is  a  Harvard  man,  you  know, 
and  that  is  where  he's  going  to  send  me,  and  in  talking 
about  it  the  other  night  I  told  him  about  you,  and  what 
you  had  said  to  me.  He's  the  greatest  old  scout,  and 
was  mightily  interested.  He  went  at  once  and  opened  a 
box  of  books  in  the  garret  and  dug  out  some  stuff  that  will 
be  a  big  help  to  me.  He's  going  to  keep  posted  and  see 
what  he  can  do;  he  said  even  worse  things  to  me  than 


166  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

you  did;  so  you  needn't  feel  that  you  have  any  respon 
sibility;  besides  that,  it's  not  proved  yet  that  I  can  beat 
Oka  Sayye." 

"Yes,  it  is!"  said  Linda,  sending  a  straight  level  gaze 
deep  into  his  eyes.  "Yes,  it  is!  Whenever  a  white  man 
makes  up  his  mind  what  he's  going  to  do,  and  puts  his  brain 
to  work,  he  beats  any  man,  of  any  other  colour.  Sure 
you're  going  to  beat  him." 

"Fat  chance  I  have  not  to,"  said  Donald,  laughing  rue 
fully.  "If  I  don't  beat  him  I  am  disgraced  at  home,  and 
with  you;  before  I  try  very  long  in  this  highly  specialized 
effort  1  am  making,  every  professor  in  the  High  School 
and  every  member  of  my  class  is  bound  to  become  aware 
of  what  is  going  on.  You're  mighty  right  about  it.  I 
have  got  to  beat  him  or  disgrace  myself  right  at  the  be 
ginning  of  my  nice  young  career." 

"Of  course  you'll  beat  him,"  said  Linda. 

"At  what  hour  did  you  say  I  should  come,  Saturday?" 

"Oh,  come  with  the  lark  for  all  I  care,"  said  Linda. 
"Early  morning  in  the  desert  is  a  mystery  and  a  miracle, 
and  the  larks  have  been  there  just  long  enough  to  get 
their  voices  properly  tuned  for  their  purest  notes." 

Then  she  turned  and  hurried  away.  Her  first  leisure 
minute  after  reaching  home  she  went  to  the  library  wear 
ing  one  of  Katy's  big  aprons,  and  carrying  a  brush 
and  duster.  Beginning  at  one  end  of  each  shelf,  she 
took  down  the  volumes  she  intended  to  sell,  carefully 
dusted  them,  wiped  their  covers,  and  the  place  on  which 
they  had  stood,  and  then  opened  and  leafed  through  them 


LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE       167 

so  that  no  scrap  of  paper  containing  any  notes  or 
memoranda  of  possible  value  should  be  overlooked. 
It  was  while  handling  these  volumes  that  Linda  shifted 
several  of  the  books  written  by  her  father,  to  separate 
them  from  those  with  which  she  meant  to  part.  She  had 
grown  so  accustomed  to  opening  each  book  she  handled 
and  looking  through  it,  that  she  mechanically  opened  the 
first  one  she  picked  up  and  from  among  its  leaves  there 
fell  a  scrap  of  loose  paper.  She  picked  it  up  and  found 
it  was  a  letter  from  the  publishers  of  the  book.  Linda's, 
eyes  widened  suddenly  as  she  read: 

MY  DEAR  STRONG: 

Sending  you  a  line  of  congratulations.  You  have  gone  to  the 
head  of  the  list  of  "best  sellers"  among  medical  works,  and  the 
cheque  I  draw  you  for  the  past  six  months'  royalties  will  be  con^ 
siderably  larger  than  that  which  goes  to  your  most  esteemed  con" 
temporary  on  your  chosen  subject. 

Very  truly  yours, 

The  signature  was  that  of  Frederic  Dickman,  the  editor 
of  one  of  the  biggest  publishing  houses  of  the  country. 

"Hm,"  she  said  to  herself  softly.  "Now  that  is  a  queer 
thing.  That  letter  was  written  nearly  five  years  ago.  I 
don't  know  why  I  have  never  thought  of  royalties  since 
Daddy  went.  I  frequently  heard  him  mention  them  be 
fore.  I  suppose  they're  being  paid  to  John  Gilman  as 
administrator,  or  to  the  Consolidated  Bank,  and  cared  for 
with  Father's  other  business.  There's  no  reason  why  these 
books  should  not  keep  on  selling.  There  are  probably  the 
same  number  of  young  men,  if  not  a  greater  number, 


168  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

studying  medicine  every  year.  I  wonder  now,  about  these 
royalties.  I  must  do  some  thinking." 

Then  Linda  began  to  examine  books  more  carefully  than 
before.  The  letter  she  carried  with  her  when  she  went  to 
her  room;  but  she  made  a  point  of  being  on  the  lawn  that 
evening  when  John  Gilman  came,  and  after  talking  to  him 
a  few  minutes,  she  said  very  casually:  "John,  as  Father's 
administrator,  does  a  royalty  from  his  medical  books  come 
to  you?" 

"No,"  said  Gilman.    "It  is  paid  to  his  bank." 

"I  don't  suppose,"  said  Linda  casually,  "it  would 
amount  to  enough  to  keep  one  in  shoes  these  inflated 
days." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  John  testily.  "I 
have  seen  a  few  of  those  cheques  in  your  Father's  time. 
You  should  be  able  to  keep  fairly  well  supplied  with 
shoes." 

"So  I  should,"  said  Linda  drily.     "So  I  should." 

Then  she  led  him  to  the  back  of  the  house  and  talked 
the  incident  out  of  his  mind  as  cleverly  as  possible  by 
giving  him  an  intensive  botanical  study  of  Cotyledon. 
But  she  could  not  interest  him  quite  so  deeply  as  she  had 
hoped,  for  presently  he  said :  "Eileen  tells  me  that  you're 
parting  with  some  of  the  books." 

"Only  technical  ones  for  which  I  could  have  no  possible 
use,"  said  Linda.  "I  need  clothes,  and  have  found  that 
had  I  a  proper  place  to  work  in  and  proper  tools  to  work 
with,  I  could  earn  quite  a  bit  with  my  brush  and  pencil, 
and  so  I  am  trying  to  get  enough  money  together  to  fit  up 


LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE       169 

the  billiard  room  for  a  workroom,  since  nobody  uses  it  for 
anything  else." 

"  I  see,"  said  John  Gilman.  "  I  suppose  running  a  house 
is  extremely  expensive  these  days,  but  even  so  the  income 
from  your  estate  should  be  sufficient  to  dress  a  schoolgirl 
and  provide  for  anything  you  would  want  in  the  way  of 
furnishing  a  workroom." 

"That's  what  I  have  always  thought  myself,"  said 
Linda;  "but  Eileen  doesn't  agree  with  me,  and  she  handles 
the  money.  When  the  first  of  the  month  comes,  we  are 
planning  to  go  over  things  together,  and  she  is  going  to 
make  me  a  proper  allowance." 

"That  is  exactly  as  it  should  be,"  said  Gilman.  "I 
never  realized  till  the  other  night  at  dinner  that  you  have 
grown  such  a  great  girl,  Linda.  That's  fine!  Fix  your 
workroom  the  way  you  would  like  to  have  it,  and  if  there's 
anything  I  can  do  to  help  you  in  any  way,  you  have  only 
to  command  me.  I  haven't  seen  you  often  lately." 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "but  I  don't  feel  that  it  is  exactly  my 
fault.  Marian  and  I  were  always  pals.  When  I  saw  that 
you  preferred  Eileen,  I  kept  with  Marian  to  comfort  her 
all  I  could.  I  don't  suppose  she  cared,  particularly.  She 
couldn't  have,  or  she  would  at  least  have  made  some  effort 
to  prevent  Eileen  from  monopolizing  you.  She  probably 
was  mighty  glad  to  be  rid  of  you;  but  since  you  had  been 
together  so  much,  I  thought  she  might  miss  you,  so  I  tried 
to  cover  your  defection." 

John  Gilman's  face  flushed.  He  stood  very  still,  while 
he  seemed  deeply  thoughtful. 


170  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Of  course  you  were  free  to  follow  your  inclinations,  or 
Eileen's  machinations,  whichever  you  did  follow,"  Linda 
said  lightly,  "but  'them  as  knows'  could  tell  you,  John, 
as  Katy  so  well  puts  it,  that  you  have  made  the  mistake 
of  your  young  life." 

Then  she  turned  and  went  to  the  garage,  leaving  John  to 
his  visit  with  Eileen. 

The  Eileen  who  took  possession  of  John  was  an  Eileen 
with  whom  he  was  not  acquainted.  He  had  known, 
the  night  of  the  dinner  party,  that  Eileen  was  pout 
ing,  but  there  had  been  no  chance  to  learn  from  her  what 
her  grievance  was,  and  by  the  next  time  they  met  she 
was  a  bundle  of  flashing  allurement,  so  he  ignored  the 
occurrence.  This  evening,  for  the  first  time,  it  seemed 
to  him  that  Eileen  was  not  so  beautiful  a  woman  as  he  had 
thought  her.  Something  had  roiled  the  blood  in  her  deli 
cate  veins  until  it  had  muddied  the  clear  freshness  of  her 
smooth  satiny  skin.  There  was  discontent  in  her  eyes, 
which  were  her  most  convincing  attraction.  They  were 
big  eyes,  wide  open  and  candid.  She  had  so  trained  them 
through  a  lifetime  of  practice  that  she  could  meet  other 
eyes  directly  while  manipulating  her  most  dextrous  evasion. 
Whenever  Eileen  was  most  deceptively  subtle,  she  was 
looking  straight  at  her  victim  with  the  innocent  appeal 
of  a  baby  in  her  gaze. 

John  Gilman  had  had  his  struggle.  He  had  succeeded. 
He  had  watched,  and  waited,  and  worked  incessantly,  and 
when  his  opportunity  came  he  was  ready.  Success  had 
come  to  such  a  degree  that  in  a  short  time  he  had  assured 


LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE        171 

himself  of  comfort  for  any  woman  he  loved.  He  knew 
that  his  appearance  was  quite  as  pleasing  as  that  of  his 
friend.  He  knew  that  in  manner  and  education  they  were 
equals.  He  was  now  handling  large  business  affairs.  He 
had  made  friends  in  high  places.  Whenever  Eileen  was 
ready,  he  would  build  and  furnish  a  home  he  felt  sure 
would  be  equal,  if  not  superior,  to  what  Morrison  was 
planning.  Why  had  Eileen  felt  that  she  would  envy  any 
woman  who  shared  life  with  Peter  Morrison? 

All  that  day  she  had  annoyed  him,  because  there 
must  have  been  in  the  very  deeps  of  his  soul  "a  still, 
small  voice"  whispering  to  him  that  he  had  not  lived  up 
to  the  best  traditions  of  a  gentleman  in  his  course  with 
Marian.  While  no  definite  plans  had  been  made,  there 
had  been  endless  assumption.  Many  times  they  had 
talked  of  the  home  they  would  make  together.  When 
he  reached  the  point  where  he  decided  that  he  never  had 
loved  Marian  as  a  man  should  love  the  woman  he  marries, 
he  felt  justified  in  turning  to  Eileen,  but  in  his  heart  he 
knew  that  if  he  had  been  the  man  he  was  pleased  to  con 
sider  himself,  he  would  have  gone  to  Marian  Thorne  and 
explained,  thereby  keeping  her  friendship,  while  he  now 
knew  that  he  must  have  earned  her  contempt. 

The  day  at  Riverside  had  been  an  enigma  he  could  not 
solve.  Eileen  was  gay  to  a  degree  that  was  almost  boister- 
ous.  She  had  attracted  attention  and  comment  which  no 
well-bred  woman  would  have  done. 

The  growing  discontent  in  John's  soul  had  increased 
under  Linda's  direct  attack.  He  had  known  Linda  since 


172  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

she  was  four  years  old  and  had  been  responsible  for  some 
of  her  education.  He  had  been  a  large  influence  in  teach 
ing  Linda  from  childhood  to  be  a  good  sport,  to  be  sure  she 
was  right  and  then  go  ahead,  and  if  she  hurt  herself  in  the 
going,  to  rub  the  bruise,  but  to  keep  her  path. 

A  thing  patent  to  the  eye  of  every  man  who  turned  an 
appraising  look  upon  Linda  always  had  been  one  of  stead 
fast  loyalty.  You  could  depend  upon  her.  She  was  the 
counterpart  of  her  father;  and  Doctor  Strong  had  been 
loved  by  other  men.  Wherever  he  had  gone  he  had  been 
surrounded.  His  figure  had  been  one  that  attracted  atten 
tion.  When  he  had  spoken,  his  voice  and  what  he  had  to 
say  had  commanded  respect.  And  then  there  had  ema 
nated  from  him  that  peculiar  physical  charm  which  gives 
such  pleasing  and  distinguished  personality  to  a  very  few 
people  in  this  world.  This  gift  too  had  descended  to  Linda. 
She  could  sit  and  look  straight  at  you  with  her  narrow, 
interested  eyes,  smile  faintly,  and  make  you  realize  what 
she  thought  and  felt  without  opening  her  lips.  John  did 
not  feel  very  well  acquainted  with  the  girl  who  had  domi 
nated  the  recent  dinner  party,  but  he  did  see  that  she  was 
attractive,  that  both  Peter  Morrison  and  Henry  Anderson 
had  been  greatly  amused  and  very  much  entertained  by 
her.  He  had  found  her  so  interesting  himself  that  he  had 
paid  slight  attention  to  Eileen's  pouting. 

To-night  he  was  forced  to  study  Eileen,  for  the  sake  of 
his  own  comfort  to  try  to  conciliate  her.  He  was  uncom 
fortable  because  he  was  unable  to  conduct  himself  as 
Eileen  wished  him  to,  without  a  small  sickening  disgust 


LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE       173 

creeping  into  his  soul.  Before  the  evening  was  over  he 
became  exasperated,  and  ended  by  asking  flatly:  "Eileen, 
what  in  the  dickens  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

It  was  a  new  tone  and  a  new  question  on  nerves  tensely 
strung. 

"If  you  weren't  blind  you'd  know  without  asking,"  re 
torted  Eileen  hotly. 

"Then  I  am  *  blind',  for  I  haven't  the  slightest  notion. 
What  have  I  done?" 

"Isn't  it  just  barely  possible,"  asked  Eileen,  "that  there 
might  be  other  people  who  would  annoy  and  exasperate 
me?  I  have  not  hinted  that  you  have  done  anything, 
although  I  don't  know  that  it's  customary  for  a  man  call 
ing  on  his  betrothed  to  stop  first  for  a  visit  with  her  sister." 

"For  the  love  of  Mike!"  said  John  Oilman.  "Am  I  to 
be  found  fault  with  for  crossing  the  lawn  a  minute  to 
see  how  Linda's  wild  garden  is  coming  on  ?  I  have  dug 
and  helped  set  enough  of  those  plants  to  justify  some  in 
terest  in  them  as  they  grow." 

"And  the  garden  was  your  sole  subject  of  conversation  ?" 
inquired  Eileen,  implied  doubt  conveyed  nicely. 

"No,  it  was  not,"  answered  Gilman,  all  the  bulldog  in 
his  nature  coming  to  the  surface. 

"As  I  knew  perfectly,"  said  Eileen.  "I  admit  that  I'm 
not  feeling  myself.  Things  began  going  wrong  recently, 
and  everything  has  gone  wrong  since.  I  think  it  all  began 
with  Marian  Thome's  crazy  idea  of  selling  her  home  and 
going  to  the  city  to  try  to  ape  a  man." 

"Marian  never  tried  to  ape  a  man  in  her  life,"  said 


174  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

John,  instantly  yielding  to  a  sense  of  justice.  "She  is  as 
strictly  feminine  as  any  woman  I  ever  knew.'* 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  think  studying  architec 
ture  is  a  woman's  work?"  sneered  Eileen. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Oilman  emphatically.  "Women  live 
in  houses.  They're  in  them  nine  tenths  of  the  time  to  a 
man's  one  tenth.  Next  to  rocking  a  cradle  I  don't  know 
of  any  occupation  in  this  world  more  distinctly  feminine 
than  the  planning  of  comfortable  homes  for  homekeeping 
people." 

Eileen  changed  the  subject  swiftly.  "What  was  Linda 
saying  to  you?"  she  asked. 

"She  was  showing  me  a  plant,  a  rare  Echeveria  of  the 
Cotyledon  family,  that  she  tobogganed  down  one  side  of 
Multiflores  Canyon  and  delivered  safely  on  the  roadway 
without  its  losing  an  appreciable  amount  of  'bloom'  from 
its  exquisitely  painted  leaves." 

Eileen  broke  in  rudely.  "Linda  has  missed  Marian. 
There's  not  a  possible  thing  to  make  life  uncomfortable  for 
me  that  she  is  not  doing.  You  needn't  tell  me  you  didn't 
see  and  understand  her  rude  forwardness  the  other  night ! " 

"No,  I  didn't  see  it,"  said  John,  "because  the  fact  is  I 
thought  the  kid  was  positively  charming,  and  so  did  Peter 
and  Henry  because  both  of  them  said  so.  There's  one 
thing  you  must  take  into  consideration,  Eileen.  The  time 
has  come  when  she  should  have  clothes  and  liberty  and  op 
portunity  to  shape  her  life  according  to  her  inclinations. 
Let  me  tell  you  she  will  attract  attention  in  georgette 
and  laces." 


LEAVENING  THE  BREAD  OF  LIFE       175 

"And  where  are  the  georgette  and  laces  to  come  from?" 
inquired  Eileen  sarcastically.  "All  outgo  and  no  income 
for  four  years  is  leaving  the  Strong  finances  in  mighty  pre 
carious  shape,  I  can  tell  you." 

"All  right,"  said  Gilman,  "I'm  financially  comfortable 
now.  I'm  ready.  Say  the  word.  We'll  select  our  loca 
tion  and  build  our  home,  and  let  Linda  have  what  there  is 
of  the  Strong  income  till  she  is  settled  in  life.  You  have 
pretty  wrell  had  all  of  it  for  the  past  four  years." 

"Yes,"  said  Eileen  furiously,  "I  have  *  pretty  well'  had 
it,  in  a  few  little  dresses  that  I  have  altered  myself  and 
very  frequently  made  entirely.  I  have  done  the  best  I 
could,  shifting  and  skimping,  and  it's  not  accomplished 
anything  that  I  have  really  wanted.  According  to  men, 
the  gas  and  the  telephone  and  the  electric  light  and  the 
taxes  and  food  and  cook  pay  for  themselves.  All  a  woman 
ever  spends  money  on  is  clothes!" 

"Eileen,"  chuckled  John  Gilman,  "this  sounds  exactly 
as  if  we  were  married,  and  we're  not,  yet." 

"No,"  said  Eileen,  "thank  heaven  we're  not.  If  it's 
come  to  the  place  where  you're  siding  with  everybody  else 
against  me,  and  where  you're  more  interested  in  what  my 
kid  sister  has  to  say  to  you  than  you  are  in  me,  I  don't 
think  we  ever  shall  be." 

Then,  from  stress  of  nerve  tension  and  long  practice, 
some  big  tears  gushed  up  and  threatened  to  overflow 
Eileen's  lovely  eyes.  That  never  should  happen,  for 
tears  are  salt  water  and  they  cut  little  rivers  through  even 
the  most  carefully  and  skilfully  constructed  complexion,. 


176  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

while  Eileen's  was  looking  its  worst  that  evening.  She 
hastily  applied  her  handkerchief,  and  John  Oilman  took 
her  into  his  arms;  so  the  remainder  of  the  evening  it  was 
as  if  they  were  not  married.  But  when  John  returned  to 
the  subject  of  a  home  and  begged  Eileen  to  announce  their 
engagement  and  let  him  begin  work,  she  evaded  him,  and 
put  him  off,  and  had  to  have  time  to  think,  and  she 
was  not  ready,  and  there  were  many  excuses,  for  none  of 
which  Gilman  could  see  any  sufficient  reason.  When  he 
left  Eileen  that  night,  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD 

THROUGHOUT  the  week  Linda  had  worked  as 
never  during  her  life  previously,  in  order  to  save 
Saturday  for  Donald  Whiting.  She  ran  the  Bear 
cat  down  to  the  garage  and  had  it  looked  over  once  more 
to  be  sure  that  everything  was  all  right.  Friday  evening, 
on  her  way  from  school,  she  stopped  at  a  grocery  where  she 
knew  Eileen  kept  an  account,  and  for  the  first  time  ordered 
a  few  groceries.  These  she  carried  home  with  her,  and  ex 
plained  to  Katy  what  she  wanted. 

Katy  fully  realized  that  Linda  was  still  her  child,  with  no 
thought  in  her  mind  save  standing  at  the  head  of  her 
classes,  carrying  on  the  work  she  had  begun  with  her 
father,  keeping  up  her  nature  study,  and  getting  the  best 
time  she  could  out  of  life  in  the  open  as  she  had  been 
taught  to  do  from  her  cradle. 

Katy  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  opening  her 
lips  to  say  one  word  that  might  put  any  idea  into 
the  head  of  her  beloved  child,  but  she  saw  no  reason 
why  she  herself  should  not  harbour  all  the  ideas  she 
pleased. 

Whereupon,  actuated  by  a  combination  of  family  pride, 

love,  ambition  in  her  chosen  profession,  Katy  made  ready 

177 


178  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

to  see  that  on  the  morrow  the  son  of  Frederick  Whiting 
should  be  properly  nourished  on  his  outing  with  Linda. 

At  six  o'clock  Saturday  morning  Linda  ran  the  Bear-cat 
to  the  back  door,  where  she  and  Katy  packed  it. 
Before  they  had  finished,  Donald  Whiting  came  down  the 
sidewalk,  his  cheeks  flushed  with  the  exercise  of  walking, 
his  eyes  bright  with  anticipation,  his  cause  for  ever  won — 
in  case  he  had  a  cause — with  Katy,  because  she  liked  the 
wholesome,  hearty  manner  in  which  he  greeted  Linda, 
and  she  was  dumbfounded  when  he  held  out  his  hand  to 
her  and  said  laughingly:  "Blessed  among  women,  did 
you  put  in  a  fine  large  consignment  of  orange  punch?" 

"No,"  said  Katy,  "I'll  just  tell  ye  flat-footed  there  ain't 
going  to  be  any  punch,  but,  young  sir,  you're  eshcortin'  a 
very  capable  young  lady,  and  don't  ye  bewail  the  punch, 
because  ye  might  be  complimenting  your  face  with  some' 
thing  ye  would  like  a  hape  better." 

"Can't  be  done,  Katy,"  cried  Donald. 

"Ye  must  have  a  poor  opinion  of  us,"  laughed  Katy, 
"if  ye  are  thinking  ye  can  get  to  the  end  of  our  limitations 
in  one  lunch.  Fourteen  years  me  and  Miss  Linda's 
been  on  this  lunch-box  stunt.  Don't  ye  be  thinkin'  ye 
can  exhaust  us  in  any  wan  trip,  or  in  any  wan  dozen!" 

So  they  said  good-bye  to  Katy  and  rolled  past  Eileen's 
room  on  the  way  to  the  desert.  Eileen  stood  at  the 
window  watching  them,  and  never  had  her  heart  been  so 
full  of  discontent  and  her  soul  the  abiding  place  of  such 
envy  or  her  mind  so  busy.  Just  when  she  had  thought 
life  was  going  to  yield  her  what  she  craved,  she  could 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  179 

not  understand  how  or  why  things  should  begin  to  go 
wrong. 

As  the  Bear-cat  traversed  Lilac  Valley,  Linda  was 
pointing  out  Peter  Morrison's  location.  She  was  telling 
Donald  Whiting  where  to  find  Peter's  articles,  and  what 
a  fine  man  he  was,  and  that  he  had  promised  to  think  how 
he  could  help  with  their  plan  to  make  of  Donald  a  better 
scholar  than  was  Oka  Sayye. 

"Well,  I  call  that  mighty  decent  of  a  stranger,"  said 
Donald. 

"But  he  is  scarcely  more  of  a  stranger  than  I  am,"  an 
swered  Linda.  "He  is  a  writer.  He  is  interested  in 
humanity.  It's  the  business  of  every  man  in  this  world 
to  reach  out  and  help  every  boy  with  whom  he  comes  in 
contact  into  the  biggest,  finest  manhood  possible.  He  only 
knows  that  you're  a  boy  tackling  a  big  job  that  means 
much  to  every  white  boy  to  have  you  succeed  with,  and 
for  that  reason  he's  just  as  interested  as  I  am.  May 
be,  when  we  come  in  this  evening,  I'll  run  up  to  his  place, 
and  you  can  talk  it  over  with  him.  If  your  father  helped 
you  at  one  angle,  it's  altogether  probable  that  Peter 
Morrison  could  help  you  at  another." 

Donald  Whiting  rubbed  his  knee  reflectively.  He  was 
sitting  half  turned  in  the  wide  seat  so  that  he  might  watch 
Linda's  hands  and  her  face  while  she  drove. 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  he  said  heartily.  "You  can 
write  me  down  as  willing  and  anxious  to  take  all  the  help  I 
can  get,  for  it's  going  to  be  no  microscopic  job,  that  I  can 
tell  you.  One  week  has  waked  up  the  Jap  to  the  fact 


i8o  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

that  there's  something  doing,  and  he's  digging  in  and  has 
begun,  the  last  day  or  two,  to  speak  up  in  class  and  suggest 
things  himself.  Since  I've  been  studying  him  and  watch 
ing  him,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  is  much 
older  than  I  am.  Something  he  said  in  class  yesterday 
made  me  think  he  had  probably  had  the  best  schooling 
Japan  could  give  him  before  he  came  here.  Next  time 
you  meet  him  look  for  a  suspicion  of  gray  hairs  around 
his  ears.  He's  too  blamed  comprehensive  for  the  average 
boy  of  my  age.  You  said  the  Japs  were  the  best  imitators 
in  the  world  and  I  have  an  idea  in  the  back  of  my  head 
that  before  I  get  through  with  him,  Oka  Sayye  is  going  to 
prove  your  proposition." 

Linda  nodded  as  she  shot  the  Bear-cat  across  the  street 
car  tracks  and  headed  toward  the  desert.  The  engine 
was  purring  softly  as  it  warmed  up.  The  car  was  run 
ning  smoothly.  The  sun  of  early  morning  was  shining 
on  them  through  bracing,  salt,  cool  air,  and  even  in  the 
valley  the  larks  were  busy,  and  the  mocking  birds,  and  from 
every  wayside  bush  the  rosy  finches  were  singing.  All  the 
world  was  coming  to  the  exquisite  bloom  of  a  half-tropical 
country.  Up  from  earth  swept  the  heavy  odours  of 
blooming  citrus  orchards,  millions  of  roses,  and  the  over 
powering  sweetness  of  gardens  and  cultivated  flowers; 
while  down  from  the  mountains  rolled  the  delicate  breath 
of  the  misty  blue  lilac,  the  pungent  odour  of  California 
sage,  and  the  spicy  sweet  of  the  lemonade  bush. 
They  were  two  young  things,  free  for  the  day,  flying  down 
a  perfect  road,  adventuring  with  providence.  They  had 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  181 

only  gone  a  few  miles  when  Donald  Whiting  took  off  his 
hat,  stuffed  it  down  beside  him,  and  threw  back  his  head, 
shaking  his  hair  to  the  wind  in  a  gesture  so  soon  to  become 
familiar  to  Linda.  She  glanced  across  at  him  and  found 
him  looking  at  her.  A  smile  broke  over  her  lips.  One  of 
her  most  spontaneous  laughs  bubbled  up  in  her  throat. 

"Topping,  isn't  it!"  she  cried  gaily. 

"  It's  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me,"  answered 
Donald  Whiting  instantly.  "Our  car  is  a  mighty  good  one 
and  Dad  isn't  mean  about  letting  me  drive  it.  I  can  take 
it  frequently  and  can  have  plenty  of  gas  and  take  my 
crowd;  but  lordy,  I  don't  believe  there's  a  boy  or  girl 
living  that  doesn't  just  positively  groan  when  they  see 
one  of  these  little  gray  Bear-cats  go  loping  past.  And 
I  never  even  had  a  ride  in  one  before.  I  can't  get  over  the 
fact  that  it's  yours.  It  wouldn't  seem  so  funny  if  it 
belonged  to  one  of  the  fellows." 

With  steady  hand  and  gradually  increasing  speed, 
Linda  put  the  Bear-cat  over  the  roads  of  early  morning. 
Sometimes  she  stopped  in  the  shade  of  pepper,  eucalyptus, 
or  palm,  where  the  larks  were  specializing  in  their  age-old 
offertory.  And  then  again  they  went  racing  until  they 
reached  the  real  desert.  Linda  ran  the  car  under  the  shade 
of  a  tall  clump  of  bloom-whitened  alders.  She  took  off 
her  hat,  loosened  the  hair  at  her  temples,  and  looked  out 
across  the  long  morning  stretch  of  desert. 

"It's  just  beginning  to  be  good,"  she  said.  She  be 
gan  pointing  with  her  slender  hand.  "That  gleam  you 
see  over  there  is  the  gold  of  a  small  clump  of  early  poppies. 


i82  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

The  purple  beyond  it  is  lupin.  All  these  exquisite  colours  on 
the  floor  are  birds'-eyes  and  baby  blue  eyes,  and  the  misty 
white  here  and  there  is  forget-me-not.  It  won't  be  long 
till  thousands  and  thousands  of  yucca  plants  will  light  their 
torches  all  over  the  desert  and  all  the  alders  show  their  lacy 
mist.  Of  course  you  know  how  exquisitely  the  Spaniards 
named  the  yucca  'Our  Lord's  Candles/  Isn't  that  the 
prettiest  name  for  a  flower,  and  isn't  it  the  prettiest 
thought?" 

"It  certainly  is,"  answered  Donald. 

"Had  any  experience  with  the  desert?"  Linda  asked 
lightly. 

"Hunted  sage  hens  some,"  answered  Donald. 

"Oh,  well,  that'll  be  all  right,"  said  Linda.  "I  won- 
dered  if  you'd  go  murdering  yourself  like  a  tenderfoot." 

"What's  the  use  of  all  this  artillery?"  inquired  Donald 
as  he  stepped  from  the  car. 

"Better  put  on  your  hat.  You're  taller  than  most  of 
the  bushes;  you'll  find  slight  shade,"  cautioned  Linda. 
"The  use  is  purely  a  matter  of  self-protection.  The 
desert  has  got  such  a  de'il  of  a  fight  for  existence,  without 
shade  and  practically  without  water,  that  it  can't  afford 
to  take  any  other  chance  of  extermination,  and  so  it  pro 
tects  itself  with  needles  here  and  spears  there  and  sabres 
at  other  places  and  roots  that  strike  down  to  China  every 
where.  First  thing  we  are  going  to  get  is  some  soap." 

"Great  hat!"  exclaimed  Donald.  "If  you  wanted  soap 
why  didn't  you  bring  some?" 

"For  all  you  know,"  laughed  Linda,  "I  may  be  going 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  183 

to  education  you  up  a  little.  Dare  you  to  tell  me  how 
many  kinds  of  soap  I  can  find  to-day  that  the  Indians 
used,  and  where  I  can  find  it." 

"Couldn't  tell  you  one  to  save  my  life,"  said  Donald. 

"And  born  and  reared  within  a  few  miles  of  the  desert!" 
scoffed  Linda.  "Nice  Indian  you'd  make.  We  take 
our  choice  to-day  between  finding  deer-brush  and  digging 
for  amole,  because  the  mock  oranges  aren't  ripe  enough 
to  be  nice  and  soapy  yet.  I've  got  the  deer-brush  spotted, 
and  we'll  pass  an  amole  before  we  go  very  far.  Look  for 
a  wavy  blue-green  leaf  like  a  wide  blade  of  grass  and 
coming  up  like  a  lily." 

So  together  they  went  to  the  deer-brush  and  gathered  a 
bunch  of  flowers  that  Linda  bound  together  with  some 
wiry  desert  grass  and  fastened  to  her  belt.  It  was  not 
long  before  Donald  spied  an  amole,  and  having  found 
one,  discovered  many  others  growing  near.  Then  Linda 
led  the  way  past  thorns  and  brush,  past  impenetrable 
beds  of  cholla,  until  they  reached  a  huge  barrel  cactus 
that  she  had  located  with  the  glasses.  Beside  this 
bristling  monstrous  growth  Linda  paused,  and  reached 
for  the  axe,  which  Donald  handed  to  her.  She  drew  it 
lightly  across  the  armour  protecting  the  plant. 

"Short  of  Victrola  needles?"  she  inquired.  "Because 
if  you  are,  these  make  excellent  ones.  A  lot  more  singing 
quality  to  them  than  the  steel  needles,  not  nearly  so 
metallic." 

"Well,  I  am  surely  going  to  try  that,"  said  Donald. 
"Never  heard  of  such  a  thing." 


1 84      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Linda  chopped  off  a  section  of  plant.  Then  she  picked 
one  of  the  knives  from  the  bucket  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"All  right,  you  get  what  you  want,"  she  said,  "while  I 
operate  on  the  barrel." 

She  set  her  feet  firmly  in  the  sand,  swung  the  axe, 
and  with  a  couple  of  deft  strokes  sliced  off  the  top  of  the 
huge  plant,  and  from  the  heart  of  it  lifted  up  half  a  bucket 
ful  of  the  juicy  interior,  with  her  dipper. 

"If  we  didn't  have  drink,  here  is  where  we  would  get  it, 
and  mighty  good  it  is,"  she  said,  pushing  down  with  the 
dipper  until  she  formed  a  small  pool  in  the  heart  of  the 
plant  which  rapidly  filled.  "Have  a  taste." 

"Jove,  that  is  good!"  said  Donald.  "What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  it?" 

"Show  you  later,"  laughed  Linda.  "Think  I'll  take  a 
sip  myself." 

Then  by  a  roundabout  route  they  started  on  their 
return  to  the  car.  Once  Linda  stopped  and  gathered  a 
small  bunch  of  an  extremely  curious  little  plant  spreading 
over  the  ground,  a  tiny  reddish  vine  with  quaint  round 
leaves  that  looked  as  if  a  drop  of  white  paint  rimmed  with 
maroon  had  fallen  on  each  of  them. 

"I  never  saw  that  before,"  said  Donald.  "What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"Use  it  on  whichever  of  us  gets  the  first  snake  bite," 
said  Linda.  "That  is  rattlesnake  weed  and  if  a  poison 
ous  snake  bites  you,  score  each  side  of  the  wound  with 
the  cleanest,  sharpest  knife  you  have  and  then  bruise  the 
plant  and  bind  it  on  with  your  handkerchief,  and  forget  it." 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  185 

"Is  that  what  you  do?"  inquired  Donald. 

"Why  sure,"  said  Linda,  "that  is  what  I  would  do  if  a 
snake  were  so  ungallant  as  to  bite  me,  but  there  doesn't 
seem  to  be  much  of  the  antagonistic  element  in  my 
nature.  I  don't  go  through  the  desert  exhaling  the 
odour  of  fright,  and  so  snakes  lie  quiescent  or  slip  away  so 
silently  that  I  never  see  them." 

"Now  what  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  that?"  inquired 
Donald. 

"Wky  that  is  the  very  first  lesson  Daddy  ever  taught 
me  when  he  took  me  to  the  mountains  and  the  desert. 
If  you  are  afraid,  your  system  throws  off  formic  acid,  and 
the  animals  need  only  the  suspicion  of  a  scent  of  it  to 
make  them  ready  to  fight.  Any  animal  you  encounter, 
or  even  a  bee,  recognizes  it.  One  of  the  first  things  that 
I  remember  about  Daddy  was  seeing  him  sit  on  the  run 
ning  board  of  the  runabout  buckling  up  his  desert  boots 
while  he  sang  to  me, 

'Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled 
Neither  let  it  be  afraid,' 

as  he  got  ready  to  take  me  on  his  back  and  go  into  the 
desert  for  our  first  lesson;  he  told  me  that  a  man  was 
perfectly  safe  in  going  to  the  forest  or  the  desert  or  any 
where  he  chose  among  any  kind  of  animals  if  he  had 
sufficient  self-control  that  no  odour  of  fear  emanated 
from  him.  He  said  that  a  man  was  safe  to  make  his  way 
anywhere  he  wanted  to  go,  if  he  started  his  journey  by 
recognizing  a  blood  brotherhood  with  anything  living 


1 86      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

he  would  meet  on  the  way;  and  I  have  heard  Enos  Mills 
say  that  when  he  was  snow  inspector  of  Colorado  he 
travelled  the  crest  of  the  Rockies  from  one  end  of  the 
state  to  the  other  without  a  gun  or  any  means  of  self- 
defense." 

"Now,  that  is  something  new  to  think  about,"  said 
Donald. 

"And  it's  something  that  is  very  true,"  said  Linda. 
"I  have  seen  it  work  times  without  number.  Father  and 
I  went  quietly  up  the  mountains,  through  the  canyons, 
across  the  desert,  and  we  would  never  see  a  snake  of  any 
kind,  but  repeatedly  we  would  see  men  with  guns  and 
dogs  out  to  kill,  to  trespass  on  the  rights  of  the  wild,  and 
they  would  be  hunting  for  sticks  and  clubs  and  firing  their 
guns  where  we  had  passed  never  thinking  of  lurking 
danger.  If  you  start  out  in  accord,  at  one  with  Nature, 
you're  quite  as  safe  as  you  are  at  home,  sometimes  more 
so.  But  if  you  start  out  to  stir  up  a  fight,  the  occasion  is 
very  rare  on  which  you  can't  succeed." 

"And  that  reminds  me,"  said  Donald,  with  a  laugh, 
"that  a  week  ago  I  came  to  start  a  fight  with  you.  What 
has  become  of  that  fight  we  were  going  to  have,  any 
way?" 

"You  can  search  me,"  laughed  Linda,  throwing  out  her 
hands  in  a  graceful  gesture.  "There's  not  a  scrap  of 
fight  in  my  system  concerning  you,  but  if  Oka  Sayye  were 
having  a  fight  with  you  and  I  were  anywhere  around, 
you'd  have  one  friend  who  would  help  you  to  handle  the 
Jap." 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  187 

Donald  looked  at  Linda  thoughtfully. 

"By  the  great  hocus-pocus,"  he  said,  "you  know,  I 
believe  you!  If  two  fellows  were  having  a  pitched  battle 
most  of  the  girls  I  know  would  quietly  faint  or  run,  but 
I  do  believe  that  you  would  stand  by  and  help  a  fellow  if 
he  needed  it." 

"That  I  surely  would,"  said  Linda;  "but  don't  you 
say  'most  of  the  girls  I  know'  and  then  make  a  statement 
like  that  concerning  girls,  because  you  prove  that  you 
don't  know  them  at  all.  A  few  years  ago,  I  very  dis 
tinctly  recall  how  angry  many  women  were  at  this  line 
in  one  of  Kipling's  poems: 

The  female  of  the  species  is  more  deadly  than  the  male, 

and  there  was  nothing  to  it  save  that  a  great  poet  was  try 
ing  to  pay  womanhood  everywhere  the  finest  compliment 
he  knew  how.  He  always  has  been  fundamental  in  his 
process  of  thought.  He  gets  right  back  to  the  heart 
of  primal  things.  When  he  wrote  that  line  he  was 
not  really  thinking  that  there  was  a  nasty  poison  in  the 
heart  of  a  woman  or  death  in  her  hands.  What  he  was 
thinking  was  that  in  the  jungle  the  female  lion  or  tiger 
or  jaguar  must  go  and  find  a  particularly  secluded  cave 
and  bear  her  young  and  raise  them  to  be  quite  active 
kittens  before  she  leads  them  out,  because  there  is  danger 
of  the  bloodthirsty  father  eating  them  when  they  are  tiny 
and  helpless.  And  if  perchance  a  male  finds  the  cave  of 
his  mate  and  her  tiny  young  and  enters  it  to  do  mischief, 
then  there  is  no  recorded  instance  I  know  of  in  which 


i88  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

the  female,  fighting  in  defense  of  her  young,  has  not  been 
'more  deadly  than  the  male.'  And  that  is  the  origin  of 
the  much-discussed  line  concerning  the  female  of  the 
species,  and  it  holds  good  fairly  well  down  the  line  of  the 
wild.  It's  even  true  among  such  tiny  things  as  guinea 
pigs  and  canary  birds.  There  is  a  mother  element  in  the 
heart  of  every  girl.  Daddy  used  to  say  that  half  the 
women  in  the  world  married  the  men  they  did  because 
they  wanted  to  mother  them.  You  can't  tell  what  is  in  a 
woman's  heart  by  looking  at  her.  You  must  bring  her 
face  to  face  with  an  emergency  before  you  can  say  what 
she'll  do,  but  I  would  be  perfectly  willing  to  stake  my  life 
on  this :  There  is  scarcely  a  girl  you  know  who  would  see 
you  getting  the  worst  of  a  fight,  say  with  Oka  Sayye,  or 
someone  who  meant  to  kill  you  or  injure  you,  who  would 
not  pick  up  the  first  weapon  she  could  lay  her  hands  on, 
whether  it  was  an  axe  or  a  stick  or  a  stone,  and  go  to  your 
defense,  and  if  she  had  nothing  else  to  fight  with,  I  have 
heard  of  women  who  put  up  rather  a  tidy  battle  with 
their  claws.  Sounds  primitive,  doesn't  it?" 

"It  sounds  true,"  said  Donald  reflectively.  "I  see, 
young  lady,  where  one  is  going  to  have  to  measure  his 
words  and  think  before  he  talks  to  you." 

"Pretty  thought!"  said  Linda  lightly.  "We'll  have  a 
great  time  if  you  must  stop  to  consider  every  word  be 
fore  you  say  it." 

"Well,  anyway,"  said  Donald,  "when  are  we  going  to 
have  that  fight  which  was  the  purpose  of  our  coming  to 
gether?" 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  189 

"Why,  we're  not  ever  going  to  have  it,"  answered 
Linda.  "I  have  got  nothing  in  this  world  to  fight  with  you 
about  since  you're  doing  your  level  best  to  beat  Oka 
Sayye.  I  have  watched  your  head  above  the  remainder  of 
your  class  for  three  years  and  wanted  to  fight  with  you  on 
that  point." 

"Now  that's  a  queer  thing,"  said  Donald,  "because  I 
have  watched  you  for  three  years  and  wanted  to  fight 
with  you  about  your  drygoods,  and  now  since  I've  known 
you  only  such  a  short  while,  I  don't  care  two  whoops  what 
you  wear.  It's  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  me. 
You  can  wear  French  heels  or  baby  pumps,  or  go  barefoot. . 
You  would  still  be  you." 

"Is  it  a  truce?"  asked  Linda. 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Donald,  "it's  not  a  truce.  That 
implies  war  and  we  haven't  fought.  It's  not  armed 
neutrality;  it's  not  even  watchful  waiting.  It's  my  friend, 
Linda  Strong.  Me  for  her  and  her  for  me,  if  you  say  so." 

He  reached  out  his  hand.  Linda  laid  hers  in  it,  and 
looking  into  his  eyes,  she  said:  "That  is  a  compact. 
We'll  test  this  friendship  business  and  see  what  there  is  to 
it.  Now  come  on;  let's  run  for  the  canyon." 

It  was  only  a  short  time  until  the  Bear-cat  followed  its 
trail  of  the  previous  Saturday,  and,  rushing  across  the 
stream,  stopped  at  its  former  resting  place,  while  Linda 
and  Donald  sat  looking  at  the  sheer-walled  little  room  be 
fore  them. 

"I  can  see,"  said  Linda,  "a  stronger  tinge  in  the  green. 
There  are  more  flowers  in  the  carpet.  There  is  more 


i9o  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

melody  in  the  birds'  song.  We  are  going  to  have  a  better 
time  than  we  had  last  Saturday.  First  let's  fix  up  our  old 
furnace,  because  we  must  have  a  fire  to-day." 

So  they  left  the  car,  and  under  Linda's  direction  they 
reconstructed  the  old  fireplace  at  which  the  girl  and  her 
father  had  cooked  when  botanizing  in  Multiflores.  In  a 
corner  secluded  from  wind,  using  the  wall  of  the  canyon 
for  a  back  wall,  big  boulders  the  right  distance  apart  on 
each  side,  and  small  stones  for  chinking,  Linda  super 
intended  the  rebuilding  of  the  fireplace. 

She  unpacked  the  lunch  box,  set  the  table,  and  when  she 
had  everything  in  readiness  she  covered  the  table,  and 
taking  a  package,  she  carried  it  on  a  couple  of  aluminium 
pie  pans  to  where  her  fire  was  burning  crisply.  With  a 
small  field  axe  she  chopped  a  couple  of  small  green  bran 
ches,  pointed  them  to  her  liking,  and  peeled  them.  Then 
she  made  a  poker  from  one  of  the  saplings  they  had  used 
to  move  the  rocks,  and  beat  down  her  fire  until  she  had  a 
bright  bed  of  deep  coals.  When  these  were  arranged 
exactly  to  her  satisfaction,  she  pulled  some  sprays  of  deer 
weed  bloom  from  her  bundle  and,  going  down  to  the  creek, 
made  a  lather  and  carefully  washed  her  hands,  tucking 
the  towel  she  used  in  drying  them  through  her  belt. 
Then  she  came  back  to  the  fire  and,  sitting  down  beside 
it,  opened  the  package  and  began  her  operations.  On 
the  long,  slender  sticks  she  strung  a  piece  of  tenderloin 
beef,  about  three  inches  in  circumference  and  one  fourth 
of  an  inch  in  thickness,  then  half  a  slice  of  bacon,  and 
then  a  slice  of  onion.  This  she  repeated  until  her  skewer 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  191 

would  bear  no  more  weight.  Then  she  laid  it  across  the 
rocks  walling  her  fire,  occasionally  turning  it  while  she 
filled  the  second  skewer.  Then  she  brought  from  the 
car  the  bucket  of  pulp  she  had  taken  from  the  barrel 
cactus,  transferred  it  to  a  piece  of  cheese-cloth  and 
deftly  extracted  the  juice.  To  this  she  added  the  con 
tents  of  a  thermos  bottle  containing  a  pint  of  sugar 
that  had  been  brought  to  the  boiling  point  with  a  pint 
of  water  and  poured  over  some  chopped  spearmint  to 
which  had  been  added  the  juice  of  half  a  dozen  lemons 
and  three  or  four  oranges.  From  a  small,  metal-lined 
compartment,  Linda  took  a  chunk  of  ice  and  dropped 
it  into  this  mixture. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  ground,  one  foot  doubled  under 
her,  the  other  extended.  She  had  taken  off  her  hat;  the 
wind  and  the  bushes  had  roughened  her  hair.  Exercise 
had  brought  deep  red  to  her  cheeks  and  her  lips.  Happi 
ness  had  brought  a  mellow  glow  to  her  dark  eyes.  She 
had  turned  back  her  sleeves,  and  her  slender  hands  were 
fascinatingly  graceful  in  their  deft  handling  of  everything 
she  touched.  They  were  a  second  edition  of  the  hands 
with  which  Alexander  Strong  had  felt  out  defective  nerve 
systems  and  made  delicate  muscular  adjustments.  She 
was  wholly  absorbed  in  what  she  was  doing.  Sitting  on 
the  blanket  across  from  her  Donald  Whiting  was  wholly 
absorbed  in  her  and  he  was  thinking.  He  was  planning 
how  he  could  please  her,  how  he  could  earn  her  friendship. 
He  was  admitting  to  himself  that  he  had  very  little,  if 
anything,  to  show  for  hours  of  time  that  he  had  spent  in 


192  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

dancing,  at  card  games,  beach  picnics,  and  races.  All 
these  things  had  been  amusing.  But  he  had  nothing  to 
show  for  the  time  he  had  spent  orthe  money  he  had  wasted. 
Nothing  had  happened  that  in  any  way  equipped  him  for 
his  battle  with  Oka  Sayye.  Conversely,  this  girl,  whom 
he  had  resented,  whom  he  had  criticized,  who  had  claimed 
his  notice  only  by  her  radical  difference  from  the  other 
girls,  had  managed,  during  the  few  minutes  he  had  first 
talked  with  her  in  the  hail,  to  wound  his  pride,  to  spur  his 
ambition,  to  start  him  on  a  course  that  must  end  in  lasting 
and  material  benefit  to  him  even  if  he  failed  in  making  a 
higher  record  of  scholarship  than  Oka  Sayye.  It  was 
very  certain  that  the  exercise  he  was  giving  his  brain 
must  be  beneficial.  He  had  learned  many  things  that 
were  intensely  interesting  to  him  and  he  had  not  even 
touched  the  surface  of  what  he  could  see  that  she  had 
been  taught  by  her  father  or  had  learned  through  ex 
perience  and  personal  investigation.  She  had  been  com 
ing  to  the  mountains  and  the  canyons  alone,  for  four  years 
doing  by  herself  what  she  would  have  done  under  her  father's 
supervision  had  he  lived.  That  argued  for  steadfastness 
and  strength  of  character.  She  would  not  utter  one  word 
of  flattery.  She  would  say  nothing  she  did  not  mean. 
Watching  her  intently,  Donald  Whiting  thought  of  all 
these  things.  He  thought  of  what  she  had  said  about 
fighting  for  him,  and  he  wondered  if  it  really  was  true  that 
any  girl  he  knew  would  fight  for  him.  He  hardly  believed 
it  when  he  remembered  some  of  his  friends,  so  entirely  de 
voted  to  personal  adornment  and  personal  gratification. 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  193 

But  Linda  had  said  that  all  women  were  alike  in  their 
hearts.  She  knew  about  other  things.  She  must  know 
about  this.  Maybe  all  women  would  fight  for  their  young 
or  for  their  men,  but  he  knew  of  no  other  girl  who  could 
drive  a  Bear-cat  with  the  precision  and  skill  with  which 
Linda  drove.  He  knew  no  other  girl  who  was  master  of 
the  secrets  of  the  desert  and  the  canyons  and  the  moun 
tains.  Certainly  he  knew  no  other  girl  who  would  tug 
at  great  boulders  and  build  a  fireplace  and  risk  burning 
her  fingers  and  scorching  her  face  to  prepare  a  meal  for 
him.  So  he  watched  Linda  and  so  he  thought. 

At  first  he  thought  she  was  the  finest  pal  a  boy  ever 
had,  and  then  he  thought  how  he  meant  to  work  to  earn 
and  keep  her  friendship;  and  then,  as  the  fire  reddened 
Linda's  cheeks  and  she  made  running  comments  while  she 
deftly  turned  her  skewers  of  brigand  beefsteak,  food 
that  half  the  boy  scouts  in  the  country  had  been  eating 
for  four  years,  there  came  an  idea  with  which  he  dallied 
until  it  grew  into  a  luring  vision. 

"Linda,"  he  asked  suddenly,  "do  you  know  that  one 
of  these  days  you're  going  to  be  a  beautiful  woman?" 

Linda  turned  her  skewers  with  intense  absorption.  At 
first  he  almost  thought  she  had  not  heard  him,  but  at  last 
she  said  quietly:  "Do  you  really  think  that  is  possible, 
Donald?" 

"You're  lovely  right  now!"  answered  the  boy  promptly. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  have  an  eye  single  to  your  record 
for  truth  and  veracity,"  said  Linda.  "Doesn't  this  begin 
to  smell  zippy?" 


194  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"It  certainly  does,"  said  Donald.  "It's  making  me 
ravenous.  But  honest,  Linda,  you  are  a  pretty  girl." 

"Honest,  your  foot!"  said  Linda  scornfully.  "I  am 
not  a  pretty  girl.  I  am  lean  and  bony  and  I've  got  a  beak 
where  I  should  have  a  nose.  Speaking  of  pretty  girls, 
my  sister,  Eileen,  is  a  pretty  girl.  She  is  a  downright 
beautiful  girl." 

"Yes,"  said  Donald,  "she  is,  but  she  can't  hold  a  candle 
to  you.  How  did  she  look  when  she  was  your  age?" 

"I  can't  remember  Eileen,"  said  Linda,  "when  she 
was  not  exquisitely  dressed  and  thinking  more  about 
taking  care  of  her  shoes  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
I  can't  remember  her  when  she  was  not  curled,  and  even 
when  she  was  a  tiny  thing  Mother  put  a  dust  of  powder 
on  her  nose.  She  said  her  skin  was  so  delicate  that  it  could 
not  bear  the  sun.  She  never  could  run  or  play  or  motor 
much  or  do  anything,  because  she  has  always  had  to  be 
saved  for  the  sole  purpose  of  being  exquisitely  beautiful. 
Talk  about  lilies  of  the  field,  that's  what  Eileen  is!  She 
is  an  improvement  on  the  original  lily  of  the  field — she's 
a  lily  of  the  drawing  room.  Me,  now,  I'm  more  of  a 
Joshua  tree." 

Donald  Whiting  laughed,  as  Linda  intended  that  he 
should. 

A  minute  afterward  she  slid  the  savoury  food  from  a 
skewer  upon  one  of  the  pie  pans,  tossed  back  the  cover  from 
the  little  table,  stacked  some  bread-and-butter  sandwiches 
beside  the  meat  and  handed  the  pan  to  Donald. 

"Fall  to,"  she  said,  "and  prove  that  you're  a  man  with 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  195 

an  appreciative  tummy.  Father  used  to  be  positively 
ravenous  for  this  stuff.  I  like  it  myself." 

She  slid  die  food  from  the  second  skewer  to  a  pan  for 
herself,  settled  the  fire  to  her  satisfaction  and  they  began 
their  meal.  Presently  she  filled  a  cup  from  the  bucket 
beside  her  and  handed  it  to  Donald.  At  the  same  time 
she  lifted  another  for  herself. 

"Here's  to  the  barrel  cactus,"  she  said.  "May  the 
desert  grow  enough  of  them  so  that  we'll  never  lack  one 
when  we  want  to  have  a  Saturday  picnic." 

Laughingly  they  drank  this  toast;  and  the  skewers  were 
filled  a  second  time.  When  they  could  eat  no  more 
they  packed  away  the  lunch  things,  buried  the  fire, 
took  the  axe  and  the  field  glasses,  and  started  on  a  trip 
of  exploration  down  the  canyon.  Together  they  ad 
mired  delicate  and  exquisite  ferns  growing  around  great 
gray  boulders.  Donald  tasted  hunters'  rock  leek,  and 
learned  that  any  he  found  while  on  a  hunting  expedition 
would  furnish  a  splendid  substitute  for  water.  Linda 
told  him  of  rare  flowers  she  lacked  and  what  they  were 
like  and  how  he  would  be  able  to  identify  what  she 
wanted  in  case  he  should  ever  find  any  when  he  was  out 
hunting  or  with  his  other  friends.  They  peeped  into  the 
nesting  places  of  canyon  wrens  and  doves  and  finches, 
and  listened  to  the  exquisite  courting  songs  of  the  birds 
whose  hearts  were  almost  bursting  with  the  exuberance  of 
spring  and  the  joy  of  home  making.  When  they  were 
tired  out  they  went  back  to  the  dining  room  and  after 
resting  a  time,  they  made  a  supper  from  the  remnants  of 


196  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

their  dinner.  When  they  were  seated  in  the  car  and 
Linda's  hand  was  on  the  steering  wheel,  Donald  reached 
across  and  covered  it  with  his  own. 

"Wait  a  bit,"  he  said.  "  Before  we  leave  here  I  want  to 
ask  you  a  question  and  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise." 

"All  right,"  said  Linda.     "What's  your  question?' 

"What  is  there,"  said  Donald,  "that  I  can  do  that 
would  give  you  such  pleasure  as  you  have  given  me?" 

Linda  could  jest  on  occasions,  but  by  nature  she  was  a 
serious  person.  She  looked  at  Donald  reflectively. 

"Why,  I  think,"  she  said  at  last,  "that  having  a 
friend,  having  someone  who  understands  and  who  cares 
for  the  things  I  do,  and  who  likes  to  go  to  the  same 
places  and  to  do  the  same  things,  is  the  biggest  thing  that 
has  happened  to  me  since  I  lost  my  father.  I  don't  see 
that  you  are  in  any  way  m  my  debt,  Donald." 

"All  right  then,"  said  the  boy,  "that  brings  me  to  the 
promise  I  want  you  to  make  me.  May  we  always  have 
our  Saturdays  together  like  this?" 

"Sure!"  said  Linda,  "I  would  be  mightily  pleased. 
I'll  have  to  work  later  at  night  and  scheme,  maybe.  By 
good  rights  Saturday  belongs  to  me  anyway  because  I 
am  born  Saturday's  child." 

"Well,  hurrah  for  Saturday!  It  always  was  a  grand 
old  day,"  said  Donald,  "  and  since  I  see  what  it  can  do  in 
turning  out  a  girl  like  you,  I've  got  a  better  opinion  of  it 
than  ever.  We'll  call  that  settled.  I'll  always  ask  you 
on  Friday  at  what  hour  to  come,  and  hereafter  Saturday 


is  ours." 


SATURDAY'S  CHILD  197 

"Ours  it  is,"  said  Linda. 

Then  she  put  the  Bear-cat  through  the  creek  and  on  the 
road  and,  driving  swiftly  as  she  dared,  ran  to  Lilac  Valley 
and  up  to  Peter  Morrison's  location. 

She  was  amazed  at  the  amount  of  work  that  had  been 
accomplished.  The  garage  was  finished.  Peter's  tem 
porary  work  desk  and  his  cot  were  in  it.  A  number  of  his 
personal  belongings  were  there.  The  site  for  his  house 
had  been  selected  and  the  cellar  was  being  excavated. 

Linda  descended  from  the  Bear-cat  and  led  Donald 
before  Peter. 

"Since  you're  both  my  friends,"  she  said,  "I  want  you 
to  know  each  other.  This  is  Donald  Whiting,  the  Senior 
I  told  you  about,  Mr.  Morrison.  You  know  you  said 
you  would  help  him  if  you  could." 

"Certainly,"  said  Peter.  "I  am  very  glad  to  know  any 
friend  of  yours,  Miss  Linda.  Come  over  to  my  work 
room  and  let's  hear  about  this." 

"Oh,  go  and  talk  it  over  between  yourselves,"  said  Linda. 
"I  am  going  up  here  to  have  a  private  conversation 
with  the  spring.  I  want  it  to  tell  me  confidentially  exactly 
the  course  it  would  enjoy  running  so  that  when  your 
house  is  finished  and  I  come  to  lay  out  your  grounds  I 
will  know  exactly  how  it  feels  about  making  a  change." 

"Fine!"  said  Peter.  "Take  your  time  and  become 
extremely  confidential,  because  the  more  I  look  at  the 
location  and  the  more  I  hear  the  gay  chuckling  song  that 
that  water  sings,  the  more  I  am  in  love  with  your  plan  to 
run  it  across  the  lawn  and  bring  it  around  the  boulder." 


198  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"It  would  be  a  downright  sin  not  to  have  that  water 
in  a  convenient  place  for  your  children  to  play  in,  Peter," 
said  Linda. 

"Then  that's  all  settled,"  said  Peter.  "Now,  Whiting, 
come  this  way  and  we'll  see  whether  I  can  suggest  any 
thing  that  will  help  you  with  your  problem." 

"Whistle  when  you  are  ready,  Donald,"  called  Linda 
as  she  turned  away. 

Peter  Morrison  glanced  after  her  a  second,  and  then  he 
led  Donald  Whiting  to  a  nail  keg  in  the  garage  and  im 
paled  that  youngster  on  the  mental  point  of  a  mental  pin 
and  studied  him  as  carefully  as  any  scientist  ever  studied 
a  rare  specimen.  When  finally  he  let  him  go,  his  mental 
comment  was:  "He's  a  mighty  fine  kid.  Linda  is  per 
fectly  safe  with  him." 


CHAPTER  XV 
LINDA'S  HEARTHSTONE 

EARLY  the  following  week  Linda  came  from  school 
one  evening  to  find  a  load  of  sand  and  a  heap  of 
curiously  marked  stones  beside  the  back  door. 

"Can  it  possibly  be,  Katy,"  she  asked,  "that  those 
men  are  planning  to  begin  work  on  my  room  so  soon? 
I  am  scared  out  of  almost  seven  of  my  five  senses.  I  had 
no  idea  they  would  be  ready  to  begin  work  until  after  I  had 
my  settlement  with  Eileen  or  was  paid  for  the  books." 

"Don't  ye  be  worried,"  said  Katy.  "There's  more  in 
me  stocking  than  me  leg,  and  you're  as  welcome  to  it  as 
the  desert  is  welcome  to  rain,  an'  nadin'  it  'most  as  bad." 

"Anyway,"  said  Linda,  "it  will  surely  take  them  long 
enough  so  that  I  can  pay  by  the  time  they  finish." 

But  Linda  was  not  figuring  that  back  of  the  pro^ 
jected  improvements  stood  two  men,  each  of  whom  had 
an  extremely  personal  reason  for  greatly  desiring  to  please 
her.  Peter  Morrison  had  secured  a  slab  of  sandstone. 
He  had  located  a  marble  cutter  to  whom  he  meant  to 
carry  it,  and  was  spending  much  thought  that  he  might 
have  been  using  on  an  article  in  trying  to  hit  upon  ex 
actly  the  right  line  or  phrase  to  build  in  above  Linda's 
fire — something  that  would  convey  to  her  in  a  few  words 
a  sense  of  friendship  and  beauty. 

199 


200  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

While  Peter  gazed  at  the  unresponsive  gray  sandstone 
and  wrote  line  after  line  which  he  immediately  destroyed, 
Henry  Anderson  explored  the  mountain  and  came  in,  red 
faced  and  perspiring,  from  miles  of  climbing  with  a  bright 
stone  in  each  hand,  or  took  the  car  to  bring  in  small  heaps 
too  heavy  to  carry  that  he  had  collected  near  the  roads. 
They  were  two  men  striving  for  the  favour  of  the  same 
girl.  How  Linda  would  have  been  amused  had  she  under 
stood  the  situation,  or  how  Eileen  would  have  been  pro 
voked,  neither  of  the  men  knew  nor  did  they  care. 

The  workmen  came  after  Linda  left  and  went  before 
her  return.  Having  been  cautioned  to  silence,  Katy 
had  not  told  her  when  work  actually  began;  and  so  it 
happened  that,  going  to  her  room  one  evening,  she  un 
locked  the  door  and  stepped  inside  to  face  the  completed 
fireplace.  The  firebox  was  not  very  large  but  ample.  The 
hearthstone  was  a  big  sheet  of  smooth  gray  sandstone. 
The  sides  and  top  were  Henry's  collection  of  brilliant 
boulders,  carefully  and  artistically  laid  in  blue  mortar, 
and  over  the  firebox  was  set  Peter's  slab  of  gray  sandstone. 
On  it  were  four  deeply  carved  lines.  The  quaint  Old 
English  lettering  was  filled  even  to  the  surface  with  a 
red  mortar,  while  the  capitals  were  done  in  dull  blue. 
The  girl  slowly  read: 


Voiceless  stones,  with  Flame-tongues  Preach 
Sermons  struck  from  Nature's  Lyre; 

Notes  of  Love  and  Trust  and  Hope 
Hourly  sing  in  Linda's  Fire. 


LINDA'S  HEARTHSTONE  201 

In  the  firebox  stood  a  squat  pair  of  black  andirons, 
showing  age  and  usage.  A  rough  eucalyptus  log  waited 
across  them  while  the  shavings  from  the  placing  of  the 
mantel  and  the  cutting  of  the  windows  were  tucked 
beneath  it.  Linda  stood  absorbed  a  minute.  She  looked 
at  the  skylight,  flooding  the  room  with  the  light  she  so 
needed  coming  from  the  right  angle.  She  went  over  to 
the  new  window  that  gave  her  a  view  of  the  length  of  the 
valley  she  loved  and  a  most  essential  draught.  When  she 
turned  back  to  the  fireplace  her  hands  were  trembling. 

"Now  isn't  that  too  lovely  of  them?"  she  said  softly. 
"Isn't  that  altogether  wonderful?  How  I  wish  Daddy 
were  here  to  sit  beside  my  fire  and  share  with  me  the  work 
I  hope  to  do  here." 

In  order  to  come  as  close  to  him  as  possible  she  did  the 
next  best  thing.  She  sat  down  at  her  table  and  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Marian,  telling  her  everything  she  could 
think  of  that  would  interest  her.  Then  she  re-read  with 
extreme  care  the  letter  she  had  found  at  the  Post  Office 
that  day  in  reply  to  the  one  she  had  written  Mairan 
purporting  to  come  from  an  admirer.  Writing  slowly  and 
thinking  deeply,  she  answered  it.  She  tried  to  imagine 
that  she  was  Peter  Morrison  and  she  tried  to  say  the 
things  in  that  letter  that  she  thought  Peter  would 
say  in  the  circumstances,  because  she  felt  sure  that 
Marian  would  be  entertained  by  such  things  as  Peter 
would  say.  When  she  finished,  she  read  it  over  carefully, 
and  then  copied  it  with  equal  care  on  the  typewriter, 
which  she  had  removed  to  her  workroom. 


202  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

When  she  heard  Katy's  footstep  outSx  le  her  door, 
she  opened  it  and  drew  her  in,  slipping  the  bolt 
behind  her.  She  led  her  to  the  fireplace  an  .1  recited  the 
lines. 

"Now  ain't  they  jist  the  finest  gentlemen?'  said  Katy. 
"Cut  right  off  of  a  piece  of  the  same  cloth  as  your  father- 
Now  some  way  we  must  get  together  enough  money  to 
get  ye  a  good-sized  rug  for  under  your  work  table,  and 
then  ye've  got  to  have  two  bits  of  small  ones,  one  for  your 
hearthstone  and  one  for  your  aisel;  and  then  ye're  ready, 
colleen,  to  show  what  ye  can  do.  I'm  so  proud  of  ye 
when  I  think  of  the  grand  secret  it's  keepin'  for  ye 
I  am;  and  less  and  less  are  gettin'  me  chances  for  the 
salvation  of  me  soul,  for  every  night  I'm  a-sittin'  starin* 
at  the  magazines  ye  gave  me  when  I  ought  to  be  tellin'  me 
beads  and  makin'  me  devotions.  Ain't  it  about  time  the 
third  was  comin'  in?" 

"Any  day  now,"  said  Linda  in  a  whisper.  "And,  Katy, 
you'll  be  careful?  That  editor  must  think  that  'Jane 
Meredith'  is  full  of  years  and  ripe  experience.  I  probably 
wouldn't  get  ten  cents,  no  not  even  a  for-nothing  chance, 
if  he  knew  those  articles  were  written  by  a  Junior." 

"Junior  nothing!"  scoffed  Katy.  "There  was  not  a 
day  of  his  life  that  your  pa  did  not  spend  hours  drillin' 
ye  in  things  the  rest  of  the  girls  in  your  school  never  heard 
of.  Tain't  no  high-school  girl  that's  written  them  ar 
ticles.  It's  Alexander  Strong  speakin'  through  the  me 
dium  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood." 

"Why,  so  it  is,  Katy!"  cried  Linda  delightedly.     "You 


LINDA'S  HEARTHSTONE  203 

know,  I  never  thought  of  that.     I  have  been  so  egoistkal 
I  thought  I  was  doing  them  myself." 

"Paid  ye  anything  yet?"  queried  Katy. 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "they  haven't.  It  seems  that* the 
amount  of  interest  the  articles  evoke  is  going  to  decide 
what  I  am  to  be  paid  for  them,  but  they  certainly  couldn't 
take  the  recipe  and  the  comments  and  the  sketch  for  less 
than  twenty-five  or  thirty  dollars,  unless  recipes  are  like 
poetry.  Peter  said  the  other  day  that  if  a  poet  did  not 
have  some  other  profession  to  support  him,  he  would 
starve  to  death  on  all  he  was  paid  for  writing  the  most  beau 
tiful  things  that  ever  are  written  in  all  this  world.  Peter 
says  even  an  effort  to  write  a  poem  is  a  beautiful  thing." 

"Well,  maybe  that  used  to  be  the  truth,"  said  Katy  as 
she  started  toward  the  door,  "but  I  have  been  reading 
some  things  labelled  'poetry'  in  the  magazines  of  late,  and 
if  the  holy  father  knows  what  they  mean,  he's  aven  bigger 
than  ever  I  took  him  to  be." 

"Katy,"  said  Linda,  "we  are  dreadful  back  numbers. 
We  are  letting  this  world  progress  and  roll  right  on  past  us 
without  a  struggle.  We  haven't  either  one  been  to  a 
psycho-analyst  to  find  out  the  colour  of  our  auras." 

"Now  God  forbid,"  said  Katy.  "I  ain't  going  to  have 
one  of  them  things  around  me.  The  colours  I'm  wearin' 
satisfy  me  entoirely." 

"And  mine  are  going  to  satisfy  me  very  shortly,  now," 
laughed  Linda,  "because  to-morrow  is  my  big  day  with 
Eileen.  Next  time  we  have  a  minute  together,  old  dear, 
I'll  have  started  my  bank  account." 


204  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"  Right  ye  are,"  said  Katy,  "jist  exactly  right.  You're 
getting  such  a  great  girl  it's  the  proper  thing  ye  should 
be  suitably  dressed,  and  don't  ye  be  too  modest." 

"The  unfortunate  thing  about  that,  Katy,  is  that  I  in 
timated  the  other  day  that  I  would  be  content  with  less 
than  half,  since  she  is  older  and  she  should  have  her  chance, 
first." 

"Now  ain't  that  jist  like  ye?"  said  Katy.  "I  might 
have  known  ye  would  be  doing  that  very  thing." 

"After  I  have  gone  over  the  accounts,"  said  Linda, 
"I'll  know  better  what  to  demand.  Now  fly  to  your 
cooking,  Katy,  and  let  me  sit  down  at  this  table  and  see  if 
I  can  dig  out  a  few  dollars  of  honest  coin;  but  I'm  going 
to  have  hard  work  to  keep  my  eyes  on  the  paper  with  that 
fireplace  before  me.  Isn't  that  red  and  blue  lettering  the 
prettiest  thing,  Katy,  and  do  you  notice  that  tiny  'P.  M.' 
cut  down  in  the  lower  left-hand  corner  nearly  out  of  sight? 
That,  Katy,  stands  for  '  Peter  Morrison,'  and  one  of  these 
days  Peter  is  going  to  be  a  large  figure  on  the  landscape. 
The  next  Post  he  has  an  article  in  I'll  buy  for  you." 

"It  never  does,"  said  Katy,  "to  be  makin'  up  your  mind 
in  this  world  so  hard  and  fast  that  ye  can't  change  it. 
In  the  days  before  John  Gihnan  got  bewitched  out  of  his 
senses  I  did  think,  barrin'  your  father,  that  he  was  the 
finest  man  the  Lord  ever  made;  but  I  ain't  thought  so 
much  of  him  of  late  as  I  did  before." 

"Same  holds  good  for  me,"  said  Linda. 

"I've  studied  this  Peter,"  continued  Katy,  "like  your  pa 
used  to  study  things  under  his  microscope.  He's  the  roost 


LINDA'S  HEARTHSTONE  205 

come-at-able  man.  He's  got  such  a  kind  of  a  questionin' 
look  on  his  face,  and  there's  a  bit  of  a  stoop  to  his  shoulders 
like  they  had  been  whittled  out  for  carryin'  a  load,  and 
there's  a  kind  of  a  whimsy  quiverin'  around  his  lips  that 
makes  me  heart  stand  still  every  time  he  speaks  to  me, 
because  I  can't  be  certain  whether  he  is  going  to  make 
me  laugh  or  going  to  make  me  cry,  and  when  what  he's 
sayin'  does  come  with  that  little  slow  drawl,  I  can't  be 
just  sure  whether  he's  meanin'  it  or  whether  he's  jist  pokin' 
fun  at  me.  He  said  the  quarest  thing  to  me  the  other  day 
when  he  was  here  fiddlin'  over  the  makin'  of  this  fireplace. 
He  was  standin'  out  beside  your  desert  garden  and  I  come 
aven  with  him  and  I  says  to  him:  *  Them's  the  rare  plants 
Miss  Linda  and  her  pa  have  been  goin'  to  the  deserts  and 
the  canyons,  as  long  as  he  lived,  to  fetch  in;  and  then  Miss 
Linda  went  alone,  and  now  the  son  of  Judge  Whiting,  the 
biggest  lawyer  in  Los  Angeles,  has  begun  goin'  with  her. 
Ain't  it  the  brightest,  prettiest  place?'  I  says  to  him. 
And  he  stood  there  lookin',  and  he  says  to  me:  'No,  Katy, 
that  is  a  graveyard.'  Now  what  in  the  name  of  raison 
was  the  man  meanin'  by  that?" 

Linda  stared  at  the  hearth  motto  reflectively. 

"A  graveyard!"  she  repeated.  "Well,  if  anything 
could  come  farther  from  a  graveyard  than  that  spot,  I 
don't  know  how  it  would  do  it.  I  haven't  the  remotest 
notion  what  he  meant.  Why  didn't  you  ask  him?" 

"Well,  the  truth  is,"  said  Katy,  "that  I  proide 
myself  on  being  able  to  kape  me  mouth  shut  when  I 
should." 


206  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"I'll  have  to  think  over  it,"  said  Linda.  "At  present 
I  have  no  more  idea  than  you  in  what  respect  my  desert 
garden  could  resemble  a  graveyard.  Oh!  yes,  there's  one 
thing  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  Katy.  Has  Eileen  been  around 
while  this  room  was  being  altered?" 

"She  came  in  yesterday,"  answered  Katy,  "when  the 
hammerin'  and  sawin'  was  goin'  full  blast." 

"What  I  wanted  to  find  out,"  said  Linda,  "was  whether 
she  had  been  here  and  seen  this  room  or  not,  because  if 
she  hasn't  and  she  wants  to  see  it,  now  is  her  time.  After 
I  get  things  going  here  and  these  walls  are  covered  with 
drying  sketches  this  room  is  going  to  be  strictly  private. 
You  see  that  you  keep  your  key  where  nobody  gets  hold 
of  it." 

"It's  on  a  string  round  me  neck  this  blessed  minute," 
said  Katy.  "I  didn't  see  her  come  up  here,  but  ye  could 
be  safe  in  bettin'  anything  ye've  got  that  she  came." 

"Yes,  I  imagine  she  did,"  said  Linda.  "She  would  be 
sufficiently  curious  that  she  would  come  to  learn  how  much 
I  have  spent  if  she  had  no  other  interest  in  me." 

She  looked  at  the  fireplace  reflectively. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "what  Eileen  thought  of  that 
and  I  wonder  if  she  noticed  that  little  'P.  M.'  tucked  away 
down  there  in  the  corner." 

"Sure  she  did,"  said  Katy.  "She  has  got  eyes  like  a 
cat.  She  can  see  more  things  in  a  shorter  time  than  any 
body  I  ever  knew." 

So  that  evening  at  dinner  Linda  told  Eileen  that  the 
improvements  she  had  made  for  her  convenience  in  the 


LINDA'S  HEARTHSTONE  207 

billiard  room  were  finished,  and  asked  her  if  she  would 
like  to  see  them. 

"I  can't  imagine  what  you  want  to  stick  yourself  off  up 
there  alone  for,"  said  Eileen.  "I  don't  believe  I  am  suffi 
ciently  interested  in  garret  skylights  and  windows  to  climb 
up  to  look  at  them.  What  everybody  in  the  neighbour 
hood  can  see  is  that  you  have  absolutely  ruined  the  looks 
of  the  back  part  of  the  house." 

"Good  gracious!"  said  Linda.  "Have  I?  You  know 
I  never  thought  of  that." 

"Of  course!  but  all  you've  got  to  do  is  go  on  the  east 
lawn  and  take  a  look  at  that  side  and  the  back  end  of  the 
house  to  see  what  you  have  done,"  said  Eileen.  "Un 
doubtedly  you've  cut  the  selling  price  of  the  house  one 
thousand,  at  least.  But  it's  exactly  like  you  not  to  have 
thought  of  what  chopping  up  the  roof  and  the  end  of  the 
house  as  you  have  done,  would  make  it  look  like.  You 
have  got  one  of  those  single-track  minds,  Linda,  that  can 
think  of  only  one  thing  at  a  time,  and  you  never  do  think, 
when  you  start  anything,  of  what  the  end  is  going  to  be." 

"Very  likely  there's  a  large  amount  of  truth  in  that," 
said  Linda  soberly.  "Perhaps  I  do  get  an  idea  and  pursue 
it  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  It's  an  inheritance 
from  Daddy,  this  concentrating  with  all  my  might  on  one 
thing  at  a  time.  But  I  am  very  sorry  if  I  have  disfigured 
the  house." 

"What  I  want  to  know,"  said  Eileen,  "is  how  in  this 
world,  at  present  wages  and  cost  of  material,  you're  ex 
pecting  to  pay  men  for  the  work  you  have  had  done." 


208  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"I  can  talk  more  understandingly  about  that,"  said 
Linda  quietly,  "day  after  to-morrow.  I'll  get  home  from 
school  to-morrow  as  early  as  I  can,  and  then  we'll  figure 
out  our  financial  situation  exactly." 

Eileen  made  no  reply. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PRODUCING  THE  EVIDENCE 

WHEN  Linda  hurried  home  the  next  evening, 
her  first  word  to  Katy  was  to  ask  if  Eileen  were 
there. 

"No,  she  isn't  here,"  said  Katy,  "and  she's  not  going 
to  be." 

"Not  going  to  be!"  cried  Linda,  her  face  paling  per 
ceptibly. 

"She  went  down  town  this  morning  and  she  telephoned 
me  about  three  sayin'  she  had  an  invoitation  to  go  with  a 
motor  party  to  Pasadena  this  afternoon,  an'  she  wasn't 
knowin'  whether  she  could  get  home  the  night  or  not." 

"I  don't  like  it,"  said  Linda.     "I  don't  like  it  at  all." 

She  liked  it  still  less  when  Eileen  came  home  for  a 
change  of  clothing  the  following  day,  and  again  went  to 
spend  the  night  with  a  friend,  without  leaving  any  word 
whatever. 

"I  don't  understand  this,"  said  Linda,  white  lipped  and 
tense.  "She  does  not  want  to  see  me.  She  does  not  in 
tend  to  talk  business  with  me  if  she  can  possibly  help  it. 
She  is  treating  me  as  if  I  were  a  four-year-old  instead  of  a 
woman  with  as  much  brain  as  she  has.  If  she  appear? 
while  I  am  gone  to-morrow  and  starts  away  again,  you  tell 

209 


HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Come  to  think  of  it,  you  needn't  tell  her  any 
thing;  I'll  give  you  a  note  for  her." 
So  Linda  sat  down  and  wrote: 

DEAR  EILEEN: 

It  won't  be  necessary  to  remind  you  of  our  agreement  night 
before  last  to  settle  on  an  allowance  from  Father's  estate  for  me. 
Of  course  I  realize  that  you  are  purposely  avoiding  seeing  me,  for 
what  reason  I  can't  imagine;  but  I  give  you  warning,  that  if  you 
have  been  in  this  house  and  have  read  this  note,  and  are  not  here 
with  your  figures  ready  to  meet  me  when  I  get  home  to-morrow 
night,  I'll  take  matters  into  my  own  hands,  and  do  exactly 
what  I  think  best  without  the  slightest  reference  to  what  you 
think  about  it.  If  you  don't  want  something  done  that  you  will 
dislike,  even  more  than  you  dislike  seeing  me,  you  had  better 
heed  this  warning. 

LINDA. 

She  read  it  over  slowly:  "My,  that  sounds  melo 
dramatic!"  she  commented.  "It's  even  got  a  threat  in  it, 
and  it's  a  funny  thing  to  threaten  my  own  sister.  I  don't 
think  that  it's  a  situation  that  occurs  very  frequently,  but 
for  that  matter  I  sincerely  hope  that  Eileen  isn't  the  kind 
of  sister  that  occurs  frequently." 

Linda  went  up  to  her  room  and  tried  to  settle  herself  to 
work,  but  found  that  it  was  impossible  to  fix  her  atten 
tion  on  what  she  was  doing.  Her  mind  jumped  from  one 
thing  to  another  in  a  way  that  totally  prohibited  effective 
work  of  any  kind.  A  sudden  resolve  came  into  her  heart. 
She  would  not  wait  any  longer.  She  would  know  for  her- 
sell  just  how  she  was  situated  financially.  She  wrote  a 


PRODUCING  THE  EVIDENCE  211 

note  to  the  editor  of  Everybody's  Home,  asking  him  if  it 
would  be  convenient  to  let  her  know  what  reception  her 
work  was  having  with  his  subscribers,  whether  he  desired 
her  to  continue  the  department  in  his  magazines,  and  if  so, 
what  was  the  best  offer  he  could  make  her  for  the  recipes, 
the  natural  history  comments  accompanying  them,  and  the 
sketches.  Then  she  went  down  to  the  telephone  book  and 
looked  up  the  location  of  the  Consolidated  Bank.  She 
decided  that  she  would  stop  there  on  her  way  from  school 
the  next  day  and  ask  to  be  shown  the  Strong  accounts. 

While  she  was  meditating  these  heroic  measures  the  bell 
rang  and  Katy  admitted  John  Gilman.  Strangely  enough, 
he  was  asking  for  Linda,  not  for  Eileen.  At  the  first 
glimpse  of  him  Linda  knew  that  something  was  wrong; 
so  without  any  prelude  she  said  abruptly:  " What's  the 
matter,  John?  Don't  you  know  where  Eileen  is  either?" 

"Approximately,"  he  answered.  "She  has  'phoned  me 
two  or  three  times,  but  I  haven't  seen  her  for  three  days. 
Do  you  know  where  she  is  or  exactly  why  she  is  keeping 
away  from  home  as  she  is?" 

"Yes,"  said  Linda,  "I  do.  I  told  you  the  other  day  the 
time  had  come  when  I  was  going  to  demand  a  settlement 
of  Father's  estate  and  a  fixed  income.  That  time  came 
three  days  ago  and  I  have  not  seen  Eileen  since." 

They  entered  the  living  room.  As  Linda  passed  the 
table,  propped  against  a  candlestick  on  it,  she  noticed  a 
note  addressed  to  herself. 

"Oh,  here  will  be  an  explanation,"  she  said.  "Here  is  a 
note  for  me.  Sit  down  a  minute  till  I  read  it.' 


2i2  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

She  seated  herself  on  the  arm  of  a  chair,  tore  open  the 
note,  and  instantly  began  reading  aloud. 

"Dear  little  sister 

"Pathetic,"  interpolated  Linda,  "in  consideration  of  the 
fact  that  I  am  about  twice  as  big  as  she  is.  However,  we'll 
let  that  go,  and  focus  on  the  enclosure."  She  waved  a 
slender  slip  of  paper  at  Gilman.  "I  never  was  possessed 
of  an  article  like  this  before  in  all  my  tender  young  life, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  it's  a  cheque,  and  I  can't  tell  you 
quite  how  deeply  it  amuses  me.  But  to  return  to  business, 
at  the  present  instant  I  am: 

DEAR  LITTLE  SISTER: 

It  seems  that  all  the  friends  I  have  are  particularly  insistent 
on  seeing  me  all  at  once  and  all  in  a  rush.  I  don't  think  I  ever 
had  quite  so  many  invitations  at  one  time  in  my  life  before,  and 
the  next  two  or  three  days  seem  to  be  going  to  be  equally  as 
full.  But  I  took  time  to  run  into  the  bank  and  go  over  things 
carefully.  I  find  that  after  the  payment  of  taxes  and  insurance 
and  all  the  household  expenses,  that  by  wearing  old  clothes  I 
have  and  making  them  over  I  can  afford  to  turn  over  at  least 
Seventy-Five  Dollars  a  month  to  you  for  your  clothing  and 
personal  expenses.  As  I  don't  know  exactly  when  I  can  get 
home,  I  am  enclosing  a  cheque  which  is  considerably  larger  than 
I  had  supposed  I  could  make  it,  and  I  can  only  do  this  by 
skimping  myself;  but  of  course  you  are  getting  such  a  big  girl 
and  beginning  to  attract  attention,  so  it  is  only  right  that  you 
should  have  the  very  best  that  I  can  afford  to  do  for  you.  I  am 
not  taking  the  bill  from  The  Mode  into  consideration.  I  paid 
that  with  last  month's  expenses. 

With  love, 

EILEEN. 


PRODUCING  THE  EVIDENCE  213 

Linda  held  the  letter  in  one  hand,  the  cheque  in  the 
other,  and  stared  questioningly  at  John  Gilman. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  she  inquired  tersely. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Gilman,  "that  a  more  pertinent 
question  would  be,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"Rot!"  said  Linda  tersely.  "If  I  were  a  stenographer 
in  your  office  I  would  think  that  I  was  making  a  fairly  good 
start;  but  I  happen  to  be  the  daughter  of  Alexander  Strong 
living  in  my  own  home,  with  my  only  sister  who  can  afford 
to  flit  like  the  flittingest  of  social  butterflies  from  one  party 
to  another  as  well  dressed  as,  and  better  dressed  than,  the 
Great  General  Average.  You  have  known  us,  John,  ever 
since  Eileen  sat  in  the  sun  to  dry  her  handmade  curls, 
while  I  was  leaving  a  piece  of  my  dress  on  every  bush  in 
Multiflores  Canyon.  Right  here  and  now  I  am  going  to 
show  you  something!" 

Linda  started  upstairs,  so  John  Gilman  followed  her. 
She  went  to  the  door  of  Eileen's  suite  and  opened  it. 

"Now  then,"  she  said,  "take  a  look  at  what  Eileen  feels 
she  can  afford  for  herself.  You  will  observe  she  has  com 
plete  and  exquisite  furnishings  and  all  sorts  of  feminine 
accessories  on  her  dressing  table.  You  will  observe  that 
she  has  fine  rugs  in  her  dressing  room  and  bathroom.  Let 
me  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  all  these  drawers  are 
filled  with  expensive  comforts  and  conveniences." 

Angrily  Linda  began  to  open  drawers  filled  with  fancy 
feminine  apparel,  daintily  and  neatly  folded,  everything 
in  perfect  order:  gloves,  hose,  handkerchiefs,  ribbons,  laces, 
all  in  separate  compartments.  She  pointed  to  the  high 


2i4  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

chiffonier,  the  top  decorated  with  candlesticks  and  silver- 
framed  pictures.  Here  the  drawers  revealed  heaps  of  em 
broidered  underclothing  and  silken  garments.  Then  she 
walked  to  the  closet  and  threw  the  door  wide. 

She  pushed  hangers  on  their  rods,  sliding  before  the 
perplexed  and  bewildered  man  dress  after  dress  of  lace 
and  georgette,  walking  suits  of  cloth,  street  dresses  of  silk, 
and  pretty  afternoon  gowns,  heavy  coats,  light  coats,  a 
beautiful  evening  coat.  Linda  took  this  down  and  held  it 
in  front  of  John  Gilman. 

"I  see  things  marked  in  store  windows,"  she  said. 
"  Eileen  paid  not  a  penny  less  than  three  hundred  for 
this  one  coat.  Look  at  the  rows  of  shoes,  and  pumps,  and 
slippers,  and  what  that  box  is  for  I  don't  know." 

Linda  slid  to  the  light  a  box  screened  by  the  hanging 
dresses,  and  with  the  toe  of  her  shoe  lifted  the  lid,  dis 
closing  a  complete  smoking  outfit — case  after  case  of 
cigarettes.  Linda  dropped  the  lid  and  shoved  the  box 
back.  She  stood  silent  a  second,  then  she  looked  at  John 
Gilman. 

"That  is  the  way  things  go  in  this  world,"  she  said 
quietly.  "Whenever  you  lose  your  temper,  you  always  do 
something  you  didn't  intend  to  do  when  you  started.  I 
didn't  know  that,  and  I  wouldn't  have  shown  it  to  you 
purposely  if  I  had  known  it;  but  it  doesn't  alter  the  fact 
that  you  should  know  it.  If  you  did  know  it  no  harm's 
done  but  if  you  didn't  know  it,  you  shouldn't  be  allowed 
to  marry  Eileen  without  knowing  as  much  about  her  as 
you  did  about  Marian,  and  there  was  nothing  about 


PRODUCING  THE  EVIDENCE  215 

Marian  that  you  didn't  know.  I  am  sorry  for  that,  but 
since  I  have  started  this  I  am  going  through  with  it.  Now 
give  me  just  one  minute  more." 

Then  she  went  down  the  hall,  threw  open  the  door  to 
her  room,  and  walking  in  said:  "You  have  seen  Eileen's 
surroundings;  now  take  a  look  at  mine.  There's  my  bed; 
there's  my  dresser  and  toilet  articles;  and  this  is  my  ward 
robe." 

She  opened  the  closet  door  and  exhibited  a  pair  of  over 
alls  in  which  she  watered  her  desert  garden.  Next  ranged 
her  khaki  breeches  and  felt  hat.  Then  hung  the  old  serge 
school  dress,  beside  it  the  extra  skirt  and  orange  blouse. 
The  stack  of  underclothing  on  the  shelves  was  pitifully 
smaii,  visibly  dilapidated.  Two  or  three  outgrown  ging 
ham  dresses  hung  forlornly  on  the  opposite  wall.  Linda 
stood  tall  and  straight  before  John  Gilman. 

"Whrit  I  have  on  and  one  other  waist  constitute  my 
wardrobe,"  she  said;  "and  I  told  Eileen  where  to  get  this 
dress  and  suggested  it  before  I  got  it." 

Gilman  looked  at  her  in  a  dazed  fashion. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  said  slowly.  "If  that  isn't 
the  dress  I  saw  Eileen  send  up  for  herself,  I'm  badly  mis 
taken.  It  was  the  Saturday  we  went  to  Riverside.  It 
surely  is  the  very  dress." 

Linda  laughed  bleakly. 

"That  may  be,"  she  said.  "The  one  time  she  ever  has 
any  respect  for  me  is  m  a  question  of  taste.  She  will  agree 
that  I  know  when  colours  are  right  and  a  thing  is  artistic. 
Now  then,  John,  you  are  the  administrator  of  my  father's 


216  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

estate;  you  have  seen  what  you  have  seen.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Linda,"  he  said  quietly,  "what  my  heart  might  prompt 
me  to  do  in  consideration  of  the  fact  that  I  am  engaged  to 
marry  Eileen,  and  what  my  legal  sense  tells  me  I  must  do 
as  executor  of  your  father's  wishes,  are  different  proposi 
tions.  I  am  going  to  do  exactly  what  you  tell  me  to. 
What  you  have  shown  me,  and  what  I'd  have  realized, 
if  I  had  stopped  to  think,  is  neither  right  nor  just." 

Then  Linda  took  her  turn  at  deep  thought. 

"John,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  am  feeling  depressed  over 
what  I  have  just  done.  I  am  not  sure  that  in  losing  my 
temper  and  bringing  you  up  here  I  have  played  the  game 
fairly.  You  don't  need  to  do  anything.  I'll  manage  my 
affairs  with  Eileen  myself.  But  1 11  tell  you  before  you 
go,  that  you  needn't  practise  any  subterfuges.  When 
she  reaches  the  point  where  she  is  ready  to  come  home,  I'll 
tell  her  that  you  were  here,  and  what  you  have  seen. 
That  is  the  best  I  can  do  toward  squaring  myself  with  my 


own  conscience." 


Slowly  they  walked  down  the  hall  together.  At  the  head 
of  the  stairs  Linda  took  the  cheque  that  she  carried  and 
tore  it  into  bits.  Stepping  across  the  hall,  she  let  the  little 
heap  slowly  flutter  to  the  rug  in  front  of  Eileen's  door. 
Then  she  went  back  to  her  room  and  left  John  Oilman 
to  his  own  reflections. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME 

THE  first  time  Linda  entered  the  kitchen  after  her 
interview  with  Gilman,  Katy  asked  in  deep  con 
cern,  "Now  what  ye  been  doing,  lambie?" 

"Doing  the  baby  act,  Katy,"  confessed  Linda.  "Dis 
gracing  myself.  Losing  my  temper.  I  wish  I  could  bring 
myself  to  the  place  where  I  would  think  half  a  dozen 
times  before  I  do  a  thing  once." 

"Now  look  here,"  said  Katy,  beginning  to  bristle,  "ain't 
it  the  truth  that  ye  have  thought  for  four  years  before  ye 
did  this  thing  once?" 

"Quite  so,"  said  Linda.  "But  since  I  am  the  daughter 
of  the  finest  gentleman  I  ever  knew,  I  should  not  do 
hasty,  regrettable  things.  On  the  living-room  table  I 
found  a  note  sweeter  than  honey,  and  it  contained  a 
cheque  for  me  that  wouldn't  pay  Eileen's  bills  for  lunches, 
candy,  and  theatres  for  a  month;  so  in  undue  heat  I  re 
duced  it  to  bits  and  decorated  the  rug  before  her  door. 
But  before  that,  Katy,  I  led  my  guardian  into  the  room, 
and  showed  him  everything.  I  meant  to  tell  him  that, 
since  he  had  neglected  me  for  four  years,  he  could  see 
that  I  had  justice  now,  but  when  I'd  personally  con 
ducted  him  from  Eileen's  room  to  mine,  and  when  I  took 

217 


2i8  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

a  good  look  at  him  there  was  something  on  his  face,  Katy, 
that  I  couldn't  endure.  So  I  told  him  to  leave  it  to  me; 
that  I  would  tell  Eileen  myself  what  I  had  done,  and  so  I 
will.  But  I  am  sorry  I  did  it,  Katy;  I  am  awfully  sorry. 
You  always  told  me  to  keep  my  temper  and  I  lost  it 
completely.  From  now  on  I  certainly  will  try  to  behave 
myself  more  like  a  woman  than  a  spoiled  child.  Now 
give  me  a  dust  cloth  and  brushes.  I  am  almost  through 
with  my  job  in  the  library  and  I  want  to  finish,  because 
I  shall  be  forced  to  use  the  money  from  the  books  to  pay 
for  my  skylight  and  fireplace." 

Linda  went  to  the  library  and  began  work,  efficiently, 
carefully,  yet  with  a  precise  rapidity  habitual  to  her. 
Down  the  long  line  of  heavy  technical  books,  she  came  to 
the  end  of  the  shelf.  Three  books  from  the  end  she  no 
ticed  a  difference  in  the  wall  behind  the  shelf.  Hastily 
removing  the  other  two  volumes,  she  disclosed  a  small 
locked  door  having  a  scrap  of  paper  protruding  from  the 
edge  which  she  pulled  out  and  upon  which  she  read : 

In  the  event  of  my  passing,  should  any  one  move  these  books 
and  find  this  door,  these  lines  are  to  inform  him  that  it  is  to 
remain  untouched.  The  key  to  it  is  in  my  safety-depositvault 
at  the  Consolidated  Bank.  The  Bank  will  open  the  door  and 
attend  to  the  contents  of  the  box  at  the  proper  time. 

Linda  fixed  the  paper  back  exactly  as  she  had  found  it. 
She  stood  looking  at  the  door  a  long  time,  then  she  care 
fully  wiped  it,  the  wall  around  it,  and  the  shelf.  Going  to 
another  shelf,  she  picked  out  the  books  that  had  been 
written  by  her  father  and,  beginning  at  the  end  of  the  shelf, 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  219 

she  ranged  them  in  a  row  until  they  completely  covered 
the  opening.  Then  she  finished  filling  the  shelf  with  other 
books  that  she  meant  to  keep,  but  her  brain  was  working, 
milling  over  and  over  the  question  of  what  that  little 
compartment  contained  and  when  it  was  to  be  opened  and 
whether  John  Gilman  knew  about  it,  and  whether  the 
Consolidated  Bank  would  remember  the  day  specified, 
and  whether  it  would  mean  anything  important  to  her. 

She  carried  the  dusters  back  to  Katy,  and  going  to 
her  room,  concentrated  resolutely  upon  her  work;  but  she 
was  unable  to  do  anything  constructive.  Her  routine 
lessons  she  could  prepare,  but  she  could  not  even  sketch 
a  wild  rose  accurately.  Finally  she  laid  down  her  pencil, 
washed  her  brushes,  put  away  her  material,  and  locking 
her  door,  slipped  the  key  into  her  pocket.  Going  down 
to  the  garage  she  climbed  into  the  Bear-cat  and  headed 
straight  for  Peter  Morrison.  She  drove  into  his  location 
and  blew  the  horn.  Peter  stepped  from  the  garage,  and 
seeing  her,  started  in  her  direction.  Linda  sprang  down 
and  hurried  toward  him.  He  looked  at  her  intently  as  she 
approached  and  formed  his  own  conclusions. 

"  Sort  of  restless,"  said  Linda.  "  Couldn't  evolve  a  single 
new  idea  with  which  to  enliven  the  gay  annals  of  English 
literature  and  Greek  history.  A  personal  history  seems 
infinitely  more  insistent  and  unusual.  I  ran  away  from  my 
lessons,  and  my  work,  and  came  to  you,  Peter,  because  I 
had  a  feeling  that  there  was  something  you  could  give 
me,  and  I  thought  you  would." 

Peter  smiled  a  slow  curious  smile. 


220  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"I  like  your  line  of  thought,  Linda,"  he  said  quietly. 
"It  greatly  appeals  to  me.  Any  time  an  ancient  and 
patriarchal  literary  man  named  Peter  Morrison  can  serve 
as  a  rock  upon  which  a  young  thing  can  rest,  why  he'll  be 
glad  to  be  that  rock." 

"What  were  you  doing?"  asked  Linda  abruptly. 

"Come  and  see,"  said  Peter. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  garage.  His  work  table  and  the 
cement  floor  around  it  were  littered  with  sheets  of  closely 
typed  paper. 

"I'll  have  to  assemble  them  first,"  said  Peter,  getting 
down  on  his  knees  and  beginning  to  pick  them  up. 

Linda  sat  on  a  packing  case  and  watched  him.  Already 
she  felt  comforted.  Of  course  Peter  was  a  rock,  of  course 
any  one  could  trust  him,  and  of  course  if  the  tempest  of 
life  beat  upon  her  too  strongly  she  could  always  fly  to  Peter. 

"May  I?"  she  inquired,  stretching  her  hand  in  the  di 
rection  of  a  sheet. 

"Sure,"  said  Peter. 

"What  is  it?"  inquired  Linda  lightly.  "The  bridge  or 
the  road  or  the  play  room?" 

"Gad!"  he  said  slowly.  "Don't  talk  about  me  being  a 
rock!  Rocks  are  stolid,  stodgy  unresponsive  things.  I 
thought  I  was  struggling  with  one  of  the  biggest  political 
problems  of  the  day  from  an  economic  and  psychological 
standpoint.  If  I'd  had  sense  enough  to  realize  that  it 
was  a  bridge  I  was  building,  I  might  have  done  the  thing 
with  some  imagination  and  subtlety.  If  you  want  a  rock 
and  you  say  I  am  a  rock,  a  rock  I'll  be,  Linda.  But  I 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  221 

know  what  you  are,  and  what  you  will  be  to  me  when  we 
really  become  the  kind  of  friends  we  are  destined  to  be." 

"I  wonder  now,"  said  Linda,  "if  you  are  going  to  say 
that  I  could  be  any  such  lovely  thing  on  the  landscape 
as  a  bridge." 

"No,"  said  Peter  slowly,  "nothing  so  prosaic.  Bridges 
are  common  in  this  world.  You  are  going  to  be  something 
uncommon.  History  records  the  experiences  of  but  one 
man  who  has  seen  a  flame  in  the  open.  I  am  a  second 
Moses  and  you  are  going  to  be  my  burning  bush.  I  in 
tended  to  read  this  article  to  you." 

Peter  massed  the  sheets,  straightened  them  on  the  desk, 
and  deliberately  ripped  them  across  several  times.  Linda 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  stretched  out  her  hands. 

"Why,  Peter!"  she  cried  in  a  shocked  voice.  "That  is 
perfectly  inexcusable.  There  are  hours  and  hours  of  work 
on  that,  and  I  have  not  a  doubt  but  that  it  was  good  work." 

"Simple  case  of  mechanism,"  said  Peter,  reducing  the 
bits  to  smaller  size  and  dropping  them  into  the  empty  nail 
keg  that  served  as  his  waste  basket.  "A  lifeless  thing 
without  a  soul,  mere  clock-work.  I  have  got  the  idea  now. 
I  am  to  build  a  bridge  and  make  a  road.  Every  way  I 
look  I  can  see  a  golden-flame  tongue  of  inspiration  burn 
ing.  I'll  rewrite  that  thing  and  animate  it.  Take  me  for 
a  ride,  Linda." 

Linda  rose  and  walked  to  the  Bear-cat.  Peter  climbed 
in  and  sat  beside  her.  Linda  laid  her  hands  on  the  steering 
wheel  and  started  the  car.  She  ran  it  down  to  the  high 
way  and  chose  a  level  road  leading  straight  down  the 


222  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

valley  through  cultivated  country.  In  all  the  world  there 
was  nothing  to  equal  the  panorama  that  she  spread  before 
Peter  that  evening.  She  drove  the  Bear-cat  past  orchards, 
hundreds  of  acres  of  orchards  of  waxen  green  leaves  and 
waxen  white  bloom  of  orange,  grapefruit,  and  lemon.  She 
took  him  where  seas  of  pink  outlined  peach  orchards,  and. 
other  seas  the  more  .delicate  tint  of  the  apricots.  She 
glided  down  avenues  lined  with  palm  and  eucalyptus,  pep 
per  and  olive,  and  through  unbroken  rows,  extending  for 
miles,  of  roses,  long  stretches  of  white,  again  a  stretch  of 
pink,  then  salmon,  yellow,  and  red.  Nowhere  in  all  the 
world  are  there  to  be  found  so  many  acres  of  orchard 
bloom  and  so  many  miles  of  tree-lined,  rose-decorated 
roadway  as  in  southern  California.  She  sent  the  little  car 
through  the  evening  until  she  felt  that  it  was  time  to  go 
home,  and  when  at  last  she  stopped  where  they  had 
started,  she  realized  that  neither  she  nor  Peter  had  spoken 
one  word.  As  he  stepped  from  the  car  she  leaned  toward 
him  and  reached  out  her  hand. 

"Thank  you  for  the  fireplace,  Peter,"  she  said. 

Peter  took  the  hand  she  extended  and  held  it  one  minute 
in  both  his  own.  Then  very  gently  he  straightened  it  out 
in  the  palm  of  one  of  his  hands  and  with  the  other  hand 
turned  back  the  fingers  and  laid  his  lips  to  the  heart  of  it. 

"Thank  you,  Linda,  for  the  flame,"  he  said,  and  turning 
abruptly,  he  went  toward  his  workroom. 

Stopping  for  a  bite  to  eat  in  the  kitchen,  Linda  went 
back  to  her  room.  She  sat  down  at  the  table  and  pick 
ing  up  her  pencil,  began  to  work,  and  found  that  she 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  223 

could  work.  Every  stroke  came  true  and  strong.  Every 
idea  seemed  original  and  unusual.  Quite  as  late  as  a 
light  ever  had  shone  in  her  window,  it  shone  that  night, 
the  last  thing  she  did  being  to  write  another  anonymous 
letter  to  Marian,  and  when  she  re-read  it  Linda  realized 
that  it  was  an  appealing  letter.  She  thought  it  certainly 
would  comfort  Marian  and  surely  would  make  her  feel 
that  someone  worth  while  was  interested  in  her  and  in  her 
work.  She  loved  some  of  the  whimsical  little  touches  she 
had  put  into  it,  and  she  wondered  if  she  had  made  it  so  much 
like  Peter  Morrison  that  it  would  be  suggestive  of  him  to 
Marian.  She  knew  that  she  had  no  right  to  do  that  and 
had  no  such  intention.  She  merely  wanted  a  model  to  copy 
from  and  Peter  seemed  the  most  appealing  model  at  hand. 

After  school  the  next  day  Linda  reported  that  she 
had  finished  going  through  the  books  and  was  ready  to 
hav^  them  taken.  Then,  after  a  few  minutes  of  deep 
thought,  she  made  her  way  to  the  Consolidated  Bank. 
At  the  window  of  the  paying  teller  she  explained  that  she 
wished  to  see  the  person  connected  with  the  bank  who  had 
charge  of  the  safety-deposit  boxes  and  who  looked  after 
the  accounts  pertaining  to  the  estate  of  Alexander  Strong. 
The  teller  recognized  the  name.  He  immediately  be 
came  deferential. 

"I'll  take  you  to  the  office  of  the  president,"  he  said. 
"He  and  Doctor  Strong  were  very  warm  friends.  You  can 
explain  to  him  what  it  is  you  want  to  know/' 

Before  she  realized  what  was  happening,  Linda  found 
herself  in  an  office  that  was  all  mahogany  and  marble.  At 


224  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

a  huge  desk  stacked  with  papers  sat  a  man,  considerably 
older  than  her  father.  Linda  remembered  to  have  seen 
him  frequently  in  their  home,  in  her  father's  car,  and  she 
recalled  one  fishing  expedition  to  the  Tulare  Lake  region 
where  he  had  been  a  member  of  her  father's  party. 

"Of  course  you  have  forgotten  me,  Mr.  Worthington," 
she  said  as  she  approached  his  desk.  "I  have  grown  such 
a  tall  person  during  the  past  four  years." 

The  white-haired  financier  rose  and  stretched  out  his 
hand. 

"You  exact  replica  of  Alexander  Strong,"  he  said  laugh 
ingly,  "I  couldn't  forget  you  any  more  than  I  could  forget 
your  father.  That  fine  fishing  trip  where  you  proved  such 
a  grand  little  scout  is  bright  in  my  memory  as  one  of  my 
happiest  vacations.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  what  I  can  do 
for  you." 

Linda  sat  down  and  told  him  that  she  was  dissatisfied 
with  the  manner  in  which  her  father's  estate  was  being 
administered. 

He  listened  very  carefully  to  all  she  had  to  say,  then  he 
pressed  a  button  and  gave  a  few  words  of  instruction  to 
the  clerk  who  answered  it.  When  several  ledgers  and 
account  books  were  laid  before  him,  with  practised  hand 
he  turned  to  what  he  wanted.  The  records  were  not  com 
plicated.  They  covered  a  period  of  four  years.  They 
showed  exactly  what  monies  had  been  paid  into  the  bank 
for  the  estate.  They  showed  what  royalties  had  been  paid 
on  the  books.  Linda  sat  beside  him  and  watched  his  pencil 
running  up  and  down  columns,  setting  down  a  list  of  items, 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  225 

and  making  everything  plain.  Paid  cheques  for  house 
hold  expenses  and  drygoods  bills  were  all  recorded  and 
deducted.  With  narrow,  alert  eyes,  Linda  was  watching, 
and  her  brain  was  keenly  alive.  As  she  realized  the 
discrepancy  between  the  annual  revenue  from  the  estate 
and  the  totalling  of  die  expenses,  she  had  an  inspiration. 
Something  she  never  before  had  thought  of  occurred  to  her. 
She  looked  the  banker  in  the  eye  and  said  very  quietly: 
"And  now,  since  she  is  my  sister  and  I  am  going  to  be 
of  age  very  shortly  and  these  things  must  all  be  gone  into 
and  opened  up,  would  it  be  out  of  place  for  me  to  ask  you 
this  afternoon  to  let  me  have  a  glimpse  at  the  private 
account  of  Miss  Eileen  Strong?" 

The  banker  drew  a  deep  breath  and  looked  at  Linda 
keenly. 

"That  would  not  be  customary,"  he  said  slowly. 

"No?"  said  Linda.  "But  since  Father  and  Mother 
went  out  at  the  same  time  and  there  was  no  will  and  the 
property  would  be  legally  divided  equally  between  us  upon 
my  coming  of  age,  would  my  sister  be  entitled  to  a  private 
account?" 

"Had  she  any  sources  of  obtaining  money  outside  the 
estate?" 

"No,"  said  Linda.  "At  least  none  that  I  know  of. 
Mother  had  some  relatives  in  San  Francisco  who  were 
very  wealthy  people,  but  they  never  came  to  see  us  and 
we  never  went  there.  I  know  nothing  about  them.  I 
never  had  any  money  from  them  and  I  am  quite  sure 
Eileen  never  had." 


226  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Linda  sat  very  quietly  a  minute  and  then  she  looked 
at  the  banker. 

"Mr.  Worthington,"  she  said,  "the  situation  is  slightly 
peculiar.  My  guardian,  John  Oilman,  is  engaged  to  marry 
my  sister  Eileen.  She  is  a  beautiful  girl,  as  you  no  doubt 
recall,  and  he  is  very  much  in  love  with  her.  Undoubtedly 
she  has  been  able,  at  least  recently,  to  manage  affairs 
very  much  in  her  own  way.  She  is  more  than  four  years 
my  senior,  and  has  always  had  charge  of  the  house 
hold  accounts  and  the  handling  of  the  bank  accounts. 
Since  there  is  such  a  wide  discrepancy  between  the  re 
turns  from  the  property  and  the  expenses  that  these 
books  show,  I  am  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  there  must 
be  upon  your  books,  or  the  books  of  some  other  bank  in  the 
city,  a  private  account  in  Eileen's  name  or  in  the  name  of 
the  Strong  estate." 

"That  I  can  very  easily  ascertain,"  said  Mr.  Worthing 
ton,  reaching  again  toward  the  button  on  his  desk.  A 
few  minutes  later  the  report  came  that  there  was  a  private 
account  in  the  name  of  Miss  Eileen  Strong.  Again 
Linda  was  deeply  thoughtful. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do,"  she  inquired,  "to  prevent 
that  account  from  being  changed  or  drawn  out  previous 
to  my  coming  of  age  ? " 

Then  Mr.  Worthington  grew  thoughtful. 

"Yes,"  he  said  at  last.  "If  you  are  dissatisfied,  if  you 
feel  that  you  have  reason  to  believe  that  money  rightfully 
belonging  to  you  is  being  diverted  to  other  channels,  you 
have  the  right  to  issue  an  injunction  against  the  bank, 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  227 

ordering  it  not  to  pay  out  any  further  money  on  any  ac 
count  nor  to  honour  any  cheques  drawn  by  Miss  Strong 
until  the  settlement  of  the  estate.  Ask  your  guardian  to 
execute  and  deliver  such  an  injunction,  or  merely  ask 
him,  as  your  guardian  and  the  administrator  of  the  es 
tate,  to  give  the  bank  a  written  order  to  that  effect." 

"But  because  he  is  engaged  to  Eileen,  I  told  him 
I  would  not  bring  him  into  this  matter,"  said  Linda.  "I 
told  him  that  I  would  do  what  I  wanted  done,  myself." 

"Well,  how  long  is  it  until  this  coming  birthday  of 
yours?"  inquired  Mr.  Worthington. 

"Less  than  two  weeks,"  answered  Linda. 

For  a  time  the  financier  sat  in  deep  thought,  then  he 
looked  at  Linda.  It  was  a  keen,  searching  look.  It  went 
to  the  depths  of  her  eyes;  it  included  her  face  and  hair; 
it  included  the  folds  of  her  dress,  the  cut  of  her  shoe, 
and  rested  attentively  on  the  slender  hands  lying  quietly 
in  her  lap. 

"I  see  the  circumstances  very  clearly,"  he  said.  "I 
sympathize  with  your  position.  Having  known  your 
father  and  being  well  acquainted  with  your  guardian, 
would  you  be  satisfied  if  I  should  take  the  responsibility 
of  issuing  to  the  clerks  an  order  not  to  allow  anything  to 
be  drawn  from  the  private  account  until  the  settlement  of 
the  estate?" 

"Perfectly  satisfied,"  said  Linda. 

"It  might  be,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  "managing 
matters  in  that  way,  that  no  one  outside  of  ourselves 
need  ever  know  of  it.  Should  your  sister  not  draw  on  the 


228  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

private  account  in  the  meantime,  she  would  be  free  to 
draw  household  cheques  on  the  monthly  income,  and  if 
in  the  settlement  of  the  estate  she  turns  in  this  private 
account  or  accounts,  she  need  never  know  of  the  restric 
tion  concerning  this  fund." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Linda.  "That  will  fix 
everything  finely." 

On  her  way  to  the  street  car,  Linda's  brain  whirled. 

"It's  not  conceivable,"  she  said,  "that  Eileen  should  be 
enriching  herself  at  my  expense.  I  can't  imagine  her 
being  dishonest  in  money  affairs,  and  yet  I  can  recall 
scarcely  a  circumstance  in  life  in  which  Eileen  has  ever 
hesitated  to  be  dishonest  when  a  lie  served  her  purpose 
better  than  the  truth.  Anyway,  matters  are  safe  now." 

The  next  day  the  books  were  taken  and  a  cheque  for 
their  value  was  waiting  for  Linda  when  she  reached  home. 
She  cashed  this  cheque  and  went  straight  to  Peter  Mor 
rison  for  his  estimate  of  the  expenses  for  the  skylight  and 
fireplace.  When  she  asked  for  the  bill  Peter  hesitated. 

"You  wouldn't  accept  this  little  addition  to  your  study 
as  a  gift  from  Henry  and  me?"  he  asked  lightly.  "It 
would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  us  if  you  would." 

"I  could  accept  stones  that  Henry  Anderson  had  gath 
ered  from  the  mountains  and  canyons,  and  I  could  accept 
a  verse  carved  on  stone,  and  be  delighted  with  the  gift; 
but  I  couldn't  accept  hours  of  day  labour  at  the  present 
price  of  labour,  so  you  will  have  to  give  me  the  bill,  Peter." 

Peter  did  not  have  the  bill,  but  he  had  memoranda, 
and  when  Linda  paid  him  she  reflected  that  the  current 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  229 

talk  concerning  the  inflated  price  of  labour  was  greatly 
exaggerated. 

For  two  evenings  as  Linda  returned  from  school  and 
went  to  her  room  she  glanced  down  the  hall  and  smiled 
at  the  decoration  remaining  on  Eileen's  rug.  The  third 
evening  it  was  gone,  so  that  she  knew  Eileen  was  either 
in  her  room  or  had  been  there.  She  did  not  meet  her 
sister  uatil  dinner  time.  She  was  prepared  to  watch 
Eileen,  to  study  her  closely.  She  was  not  prepared  to 
admire  her,  but  in  her  heart  she  almost  did  that  very  thing. 
Eileen  had  practised  subterfuges  so  long,  she  was  so  ac 
complished,  that  it  would  have  taken  an  expert  to  distin 
guish  reality  from  subterfuge.  She  entered  the  dining 
room  humming  a  gay  tune.  She  was  carefully  dressed 
and  appealingly  beautiful.  She  blew  a  kiss  to  Linda  and 
waved  gaily  to  Katy. 

"I  was  rather  afraid,"  she  said  lightly,  "that  I  might 
find  you  two  in  mourning  when  I  got  back.  I  never  stayed 
so  long  before,  did  I  ?  Seemed  as  if  every  friend  I  had  made 
special  demand  on  my  time  all  at  once.  Hope  you  haven't 
been  dull  without  me." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Linda  quietly.  "Being  away  at  school 
all  day,  of  course  I  wouldn't  know  whether  you  were  at 
home  or  not,  and  I  have  grown  so  accustomed  to  spending 
my  evenings  alone  that  I  don't  rely  on  you  for  entertain 
ment  at  any  time." 

"In  other  words,"  said  Eileen,  "it  doesn't  make  any 
difference  to  you  where  I  am." 

"Not  so  far  as  enjoying  your  company  is  concerned," 


23o  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

said  Linda.  "Otherwise,  of  course  it  makes  a  difference. 
I  hope  you  had  a  happy  time." 

"Oh,  I  always  have  a  happy  time,"  answered  Eileen 
lightly.  "I  certainly  have  the  best  friends." 

"That's  your  good  fortune,"  answered  Linda. 

At  the  close  of  the  meal  Linda  sat  waiting.  Eileen  gave 
Katy  instructions  to  have  things  ready  for  a  midnight 
lunch  for  her  and  John  Gilman,  and  then,  humming  her 
tune  again,  she  left  the  dining  room  and  went  upstairs. 
Linda  stood  looking  after  her. 

"Now  or  never,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  have  no  business 
to  let  her  meet  John  until  I  have  recovered  my  self-respect. 
But  the  Lord  help  me  to  do  the  thing  decently!" 

So  she  followed  Eileen  up  the  stairway.  She  tapped  at 
the  door,  and  without  waiting  to  hear  whether  she  was 
invited  or  not,  opened  it  and  stepped  inside.  Eileen  was 
sitting  before  the  window,  a  big  box  of  candy  beside  her,  a 
magazine  in  her  fingers.  Evidently  she  intended  to  keep 
her  temper  in  case  the  coming  interview  threatened  to  be 
come  painful. 

"I  was  half  expecting  you,"  she  said,  "you  silly  hothead. 
I  found  the  cheque  I  wrote  you  when  I  got  home  this 
afternoon.  That  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do.  Why  did  you 
tear  it  up  ?  If  it  were  too  large  or  if  it  were  not  enough 
why  didn't  you  use  it  and  ask  for  another?  Because  I  had 
to  be  away  that  was  merely  to  leave  you  something  to  go 
on  until  I  got  back." 

Then  Linda  did  the  most  disconcerting  thing  possible. 
In  her  effort  at  self-control  sh,  went  too  far.  She  merely 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  231 

folded  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  sat  looking  straight  at 
Eileen  without  saying  one  word.  It  did  not  show  much 
on  the  surface,  but  Eileen  really  had  a  conscience,  she 
really  had  a  soul;  Linda's  eyes,  resting  rather  specula- 
tively  on  her,  were  honest  eyes,  and  Eileen  knew  what 
she  knew.  She  flushed  and  fidgeted,  and  at  last  she  broke 
out  impatiently:  "Oh,  for  goodness'  sake,  Linda,  don't 
play  'Patience-on-a-monument.'  Speak  up  and  say  what 
it  is  that  you  want.  If  that  cheque  was  not  big  enough, 
what  will  satisfy  you?" 

"Come  to  think  of  it,"  said  Linda  quietly,  "I  can  get 
along  with  what  I  have  for  the  short  time  until  the  legal 
settlement  of  our  interests  is  due.  You  needn't  bother 
any  more  about  a-cheque." 

Eileen  was  surprised  and  her  face  showed  it;  and  she  was 
also  relieved.  That  too  her  face  showed. 

"I  always  knew,"  she  said  lightly,  "that  I  had  a  little 
sister  with  a  remarkably  level  head  and  good  common 
sense.  I  am  glad  that  you  recognize  the  awful  inflation 
of  prices  during  the  war  period,  and  how  I  have  had  to 
skimp  and  scheme  and  save  in  order  to  make  ends  meet 
and  to  keep  us  going  on  Papa's  meagre  income." 

All  Linda's  good  resolutions  vanished.  She  was  under 
strong  nervous  tension.  It  irritated  her  to  have  Eileen 
constantly  referring  to  their  monetary  affairs  as  if  they 
were  practically  paupers,  as  if  their  father's  life  had  been 
a  financial  failure,  as  if  he  had  not  been  able  to  realize  from 
achievements  recognized  around  the  world  a  comfort 
able  living  for  two  women. 


23 2      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Oh,  good  Lord!"  she  said  shortly.  "Bluff  the  rest  of 
the  world  like  a  professional,  Eileen,  but  why  try  it  with 
me?  You're  right  about  my  having  common  sense.  I'll 
admit  that  I  am  using  it  now.  I  will  be  of  age  in  a  few 
days,  and  then  we'll  take  John  Oilman  and  go  to  the 
Consolidated  Bank,  and  if  it  suits  your  convenience  to  be 
absent  for  four  or  five  days  at  that  period,  I'll  take  John 
Oilman  and  we'll  go  together." 

Eileen  was  amazed.  The  receding  colour  in  her  cheeks 
left  the  rouge  on  them  a  ghastly,  garish  thing. 

"Well,  I  won't  do  anything  of  the  sort,"  she  said  hotly, 
"and  neither  will  John  Oilman." 

"Unfortunately  for  you,"  answered  Linda,  "John  Oil 
man  is  my  guardian,  not  yours.  He'll  be  forced  to  do 
what  the  law  says  he  must,  and  what  common  decency 
tells  him  he  must,  no  matter  what  his  personal  feelings  are; 
and  I  might  as  well  tell  you  that  your  absence  has  done 
you  no  good.  You'd  far  better  have  come  home,  as  you 
agreed  to,  and  gone  over  the  books  and  made  me  a  decent 
allowance,  because  in  your  absence  John  came  here  to 
ask  me  where  you  were,  and  I  know  that  he  was  anxious." 

"He  came  here!"  cried  Eileen. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Linda.  "Was  it  anything  unusual? 
Hasn't  he  been  coming  here  ever  since  I  can  remember? 
Evidently  you  didn't  keep  him  as  well  posted  this  time  as 
you  usually  do.  He  came  kere  and  asked  for  me." 

"And  I  suppose,"  said  Eileen,  an  ugly  red  beginning  to 
rush  into  her  white  cheeks,  "that  you  took  pains  to  make 
things  uncomfortable  for  me." 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  233 

"I  am  very  much  afraid,"  said  Linda,  "that  you  are 
right.  You  have  made  things  uncomfortable  for  me  ever 
since  I  can  remember,  for  I  can't  remember  the  time  when 
you  were  not  finding  fault  with  me,  putting  me  in  the 
wrong  and  getting  me  criticized  and  punished  if  you 
possibly  could.  It  was  a  fair  understanding  that  you 
should  be  here,  and  you  were  not,  and  I  was  seeing  red 
about  it;  and  just  as  John  came  in  I  found  your  note  in 
the  living  room  and  read  it  aloud." 

"Oh,  well,  there  was  nothing  in  that,"  said  Eileen  in  a 
relieved  tone. 

"Nothing  in  the  wording  of  it,  no,"  said  Linda,  "but 
there  was  everything  in  the  intention  back  of  it.  Because 
you  did  not  live  up  to  your  tacit  agreement,  and  because 
3  had  been  on  high  tension  for  two  or  three  days,  I  lost  my 
temper  completely.  I  brought  John  Gilman  up  here  and 
showed  him  the  suite  of  rooms  in  which  you  have  done 
for  yourself,  for  four  years.  I  gave  him  rather  a  thorough 
inventory  of  your  dressing  table  and  drawers,  and  then 
I  opened  the  closet  door  and  called  his  attention  to  the 
number  and  the  quality  of  the  garments  hanging  there. 
The  box  underneath  them  I  thought  was  a  shoe  box,  but 
it  didn't  prove  to  be  exactly  that;  and  for  that  I  want  to 
tell  you,  as  I  have  already  told  John,  I  am  sorry.  I 
wouldn't  have  done  that  if  I  had  known  what  I  was  doing." 

"Is  that  all?"  inquired  Eileen,  making  a  desperate  effort 
at  self-control. 

"Not  quite,"  said  Linda.  "When  I  finished  with  your 
room,  I  took  him  back  and  showed  him  mine  in  even 


234  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

greater  detail  than  I  showed  him  yours.  I  thought  the 
contrast  would  be  more  enlightening  than  anything  either 
one  of  us  could  say." 

"And  I  suppose  you  realize,"  said  Eileen  bitterly,  "that 
you  lost  me  John  Oilman  when  you  did  it." 

"7?"  said  Linda.  "7  lost  you  John  Gilman  when  I  did 
it?  But  I  didn't  do  it.  You  did  it.  You  have  been  busy 
for  four  years  doing  it.  If  you  hadn't  done  it,  it  wouldn't 
have  been  there  for  me  to  show  him.  I  can't  see  that 
this  is  profitable.  Certainly  it's  the  most  distressing  thing 
that  ever  has  occurred  for  me.  But  I  didn't  feel  that 
I  could  let  you  meet  John  Gilman  to-night  without  telling 
you  what  he  knows.  If  you  have  any  way  to  square 
your  conscience  and  cleanse  your  soul  before  you  meet 
him,  you  had  better  do  it,  for  he's  a  mighty  fine  man 
and  if  you  lose  him  you  will  have  lost  the  best  chance  that 
is  likely  ever  to  come  to  you." 

Linda  sat  studying  Eileen.  She  saw  the  gallant  effort 
she  was  making  to  keep  her  self-possession,  to  think  with 
her  accustomed  rapidity,  to  strike  upon  some  scheme 
whereby  she  could  square  herself.  She  rose  and  started 
toward  the  door. 

"What  you'll  say  to  John  I  haven't  the  faintest  no 
tion,"  she  said.  "I  told  him  very  little.  I  just  showed 
him." 

Then  she  went  out  and  closed  the  door  after  her.  At 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  met  Katy  admitting  Gilman. 
Without  any  preliminaries  she  said:  "I  repeat,  John, 
that  I'm  sorry  for  what  happened  the  other  day.  I  have 


A  ROCK  AND  A  FLAME  235 

just  come  from  Eileen.  She  will  be  down  as  soon  as  Katy 
tells  her  you're  here,  no  doubt.  I  have  done  what  I  told 
you  I  would.  She  knows  what  I  showed  you  so  you 
needn't  employ  any  subterfuges.  You  can  be  frank  and 
honest  with  each  other." 

"I  wish  to  God  we  could,"  said  John  Gilman. 

Linda  went  to  her  work.  She  decided  that  she  would 
gauge  what  happened  by  the  length  of  time  John  stayed. 
If  he  remained  only  a  few  minutes  it  would  indicate  that 
there  had  been  a  rupture.  If  he  stayed  as  long  as  he 
usually  did,  the  chances  were  that  Eileen's  wit  had  tri 
umphed  as  usual. 

At  twelve  o'clock  Linda  laid  her  pencils  in  the  box, 
washed  the  brushes,  and  went  down  the  back  stairs  to  the 
ice  chest  for  a  glass  of  milk.  The  living  room  was  still 
lighted  and  Linda  thought  Eileen's  laugh  quite  as  gay  as 
she  ever  had  heard  it.  Linda  closed  her  lips  very  tight 
and  slowly  climbed  the  stairs.  When  she  entered  her  room 
she  walked  up  to  the  mirror  and  stared  at  hercelf  in  the 
glass  for  a  long  time,  and  then  of  herself  she  asked  this 
question : 

"Well,  how  do  you  suppose  she  did  it?" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

SPANISH  IRIS 

JUST  as  Linda  was  most  deeply  absorbed  with  her  own 
concerns  there  came  a  letter  from  Marian  which  Linda 
read  and  re-read  several  times;  for  Marian  wrote: 

MY  DEAREST  PAL: 

Life  is  so  busy  up  San  Francisco  way  that  it  makes  Lilac 
Valley  look  in  retrospection  like  a  peaceful  sunset  preliminary  to 
bed  time. 

But  I  want  you  to  have  the  consolation  and  the  comfort 
of  knowing  that  I  have  found  at  least  two  friends  that  I  hope 
will  endure.  One  is  a  woman  who  has  a  room  across  the  hall 
from  mine  in  my  apartment  house.  She  is  a  newspaper  woman 
and  life  is  very  full  for  her,  but  it  is  filled  with  such  intensely  in 
teresting  things  that  I  almost  regret  having  made  my  life  work 
anything  so  prosaic  as  inanimate  houses;  but  then  it's  my  dream 
to  enliven  each  house  I  plan  with  at  least  the  spirit  of  home. 
This  woman — her  name  is  Dana  Meade — enlivens  every  hour  of 
her  working  day  with  something  concerning  the  welfare  of  hu 
manity.  She  is  a  beautiful  woman  in  her  soul,  so  extremely 
beautiful  that  I  can't  at  this  minute  write  you  a  detailed 
description  of  her  hair  and  her  eyes  and  her  complexion,  be 
cause  this  nice,  big,  friendly  light  that  radiates  from  her  so 
lights  her  up  and  transfigures  her  that  everyone  says  how  beau 
tiful  she  is,  and  yet  I  have  a  vague  recollection  that  her  nose  is 
what  you  would  call  a  "beak,"  and  I  am  afraid  her  cheek  bones 
are  too  high  for  good  proportion,  and  I  know  that  her  hair  is 

236 


SPANISH  IRIS  237 

noc  always  so  carefully  dressed  as  it  should  be,  but  what  is 
the  difference  when  the  hair  is  crowned  with  a  halo?  I  can't 
swear  to  any  of  these  things;  they're  sketchy  impressions.  The 
only  thing  I  am  absolutely  sure  about  is  the  inner  light  that 
shines  to  an  unbelievable  degree.  I  wish  she  had  more  time  and 
I  wish  I  had  more  time  and  that  she  and  I  might  become  such 
friends  as  you  and  I  are.  I  can't  tell  you,  dear,  how  much  I 
think  of  you.  It  seems  to  me  that  you're  running  a  sort  of 
undercurrent  in  my  thoughts  all  day  long. 

You  will  hardly  credit  it,  Linda,  but  a  few  days  ago  I  drove 
a  car  through  the  thickest  traffic,  up  a  steep  hill,  and  round  a 
curve.  I  did  it,  but  practically  collapsed  when  it  was  over. 
The  why  of  it  was  this:  I  think  I  told  you  before  that  in  the 
offices  of  Nicholson  and  Snow  there  is  a  man  who  is  an  under 
standing  person.  He  is  the  junior  partner  and  his  name  is 
Eugene  Snow.  I  happened  to  arrive  at  his  desk  the  day  I  came 
for  my  instructions  and  to  make  my  plans  for  entering  their 
contest.  He  was  very  kind  to  me  and  went  out  of  his  way  to 
smooth  out  the  rough  places.  Ever  since,  he  makes  a  point  of 
coming  to  me  and  talking  a  few  minutes  when  I  am  at  the  office 
or  when  he  passes  me  on  my  way  to  the  draughting  rooms  where 
I  take  my  lessons.  The  day  I  mention  I  had  worked  late  and 
hard  the  night  before.  I  had  done  the  last  possible  thing  to 
the  plans  for  my  dream  house.  At  the  last  minute,  getting  it  all 
on  paper,  working  at  the  specifications,  at  which  you  know  I  am 
wobbly,  was  nervous  business;  and  when  I  came  from  the  desk 
after  having  turned  in  my  plans,  perhaps  I  showed  fatigue. 
Anyway,  he  said  to  me  that  his  car  was  below.  He  said  also 
that  he  was  a  lonely  person,  having  lost  his  wife  two  years  ago, 
and  not  being  able  very  frequently  to  see  his  little  daughter  who 
is  in  the  care  of  her  grandmother,  there  were  times  when  ha  was 
hungry  for  the  companionship  he  had  lost.  He  asked  me  if  I 
would  go  with  him  for  a  drive  and  I  told  him  that  I  would. 
I  am  rather  stunned  yet  over  what  happened.  The  runabout 


238  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

he  led  me  to  was  greatly  like  yours,  and,  Linda,  he  stopped 
at  a  florist's  and  came  out  with  an  armload  of  bloom — exquisite 
lavender  and  pale  pink  and  faint  yellow  and  waxen  white — the 
most  enticing  armload  of  spring.  For  one  minute  I  truly  ex 
perienced  a  thrill.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  give  that  mass  of 
flowers  to  me,  but  he  did  not.  He  merely  laid  it  across  my  lap 
and  said:  "Edith  adored  the  flowers  from  bulbs.  I  never  see 
such  bloom  that  my  heart  does  not  ache  with  a  keen,  angry 
ache  to  think  that  she  should  be  taken  from  the  world,  and 
the  beauty  that  she  so  loved,  so  early  and  so  ruthlessly.  We'll 
take  her  these  as  I  would  take  them  to  her  were  she  living." 

So,  Linda  dear,  I  sat  there  and  looked  at  colour  and  drank  in 
fragrance,  and  we  whirled  through  the  city  and  away  to  a  ceme 
tery  on  a  beautiful  hill,  and  filled  a  vase  inside  the  gates  of  a 
mausoleum  with  these  appealing  flowers.  Then  we  sat  down, 
and  a  man  with  a  hurt  heart  told  me  about  his  hurt,  and  what  an 
effort  he  was  making  to  get  through  the  world  as  the  woman  he 
loved  would  have  had  him;  and  before  I  knew  what  I  was  doing, 
Linda,  I  told  him  the  tellable  part  of  my  own  hurts.  I  even 
lifted  my  turban  and  bowed  my  white  head  before  him.  This 
hurt — it  was  one  of  the  inexorable  things  that  come  to  people  in 
this  world — I  could  talk  about.  That  deeper  hurt,  which  has 
put  a  scar  that  never  will  be  effaced  on  my  soul,  of  course  I  could 
not  tell  him  about.  But  when  we  went  back  to  the  car  he  said 
to  me  that  he  would  help  me  to  get  back  into  the  sunlight.  He 
said  the  first  thing  I  must  do  to  regain  self-confidence  was  to 
begin  driving  again.  I  told  him  I  could  not,  but  he  said  I  must, 
and  made  me  take  the  driver's  seat  of  a  car  I  had  never  seen  and 
take  the  steering  wheel  of  a  make  of  machine  I  had  never  driven, 
and  tackle  two  or  three  serious  problems  for  a  driver.  I  did  it 
all  right,  Linda,  because  I  couldn't  allow  myself  to  fail  the  kind  of 
a  man  Mr.  Snow  is,  when  he  was  truly  trying  to  help  me,  but  in 
the  depths  of  my  heart  I  am  afraid  I  am  a  coward  for  ever,  for 
there  is  a  ghastly  illness  takes  possession  of  me  as  I  write  these 


SPANISH  IRIS  239 

details  to  you.  But  anyway,  put  a  red  mark  on  your  calendar 
beside  the  date  on  which  you  get  this  letter,  and  joyfully  say  to 
yourself  that  Marian  has  found  two  real,  sympathetic,  friends. 

In  a  week  or  ten  days  I  shall  know  about  the  contest.  If  I 
win,  as  I  really  have  a  sneaking  hope  that  I  shall,  since  I  have 
condensed  the  best  of  two  dozen  houses  into  one  and  exhausted 
my  imagination  on  my  dream  home,  I  will  surely  telegraph,  and 
you  can  make  it  a  day  of  jubilee.  If  I  fail,  I  will  try  to  find  out 
where  my  dream  was  not  true  and  what  can  be  done  to  make  it 
materialize  properly;  but  between  us,  Linda  girl,  I  am  going  to 
be  dreadfully  disappointed.  I  could  use  the  material  value 
that  prize  represents.  I  could  start  my  life  work  which  I  hope 
to  do  in  Lilac  Valley  on  the  prestige  and  the  background  that 
it  would  give  me.  I  don't  know,  Linda,  whether  you  ever 
learned  to  pray  or  not,  but  I  have,  and  it's  a  thing  that  helps 
when  the  black  shadow  comes,  when  you  reach  the  land  of 
"benefits  forgot  and  friends  remembered  not." 

And  this  reminds  me  that  I  should  not  write  to  my  very  dear 
est  friend  who  has  her  own  problems  and  make  her  heart  sad 
with  mine;  so  to  the  joyful  news  of  my  two  friends  add  a  third, 
Linda,  for  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  secret  because  it  will  make 
you  happy.  Since  I  have  been  in  San  Francisco  some  man,  who 
for  a  reason  of  his  own  does  not  tell  me  his  name,  has  been  writ 
ing  me  extremely  attractive  letters.  I  have  had  several  of  them 
and  I  can't  tell  you,  Linda,  what  they  mean  to  me  or  how  they 
help  me.  There  is  a  touch  of  whimsy  about  them.  I  can't  as 
yet  connect  them  with  anybody  I  ever  met,  but  to  me  they  are 
taking  the  place  of  a  little  lunch  on  the  bread  of  life.  They  are 
such  real,  such  vivid,  such  alive  letters  from  such  a  real  person 
that  I  have  been  doing  the  very  foolish  and  romantic  thing  of 
answering  them  as  my  heart  dictates  and  signing  my  own  name 
to  them,  which  on  the  surface  looks  unwise  when  the  man  in  the 
case  keeps  his  identity  in  the  background;  but  since  he  knows 
me  and  knows  my  name  it  seems  useless  to  do  anything  else;. 


24o  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

and  answer  these  letters  I  shall  and  must;  because  every  one  of 
them  is  to  me  a  strong  light  thrown  on  John  Gilman.  Every 
time  one  of  these  letters  comes  to  me  I  have  the  feeling  that  I 
would  like  to  reach  out  through  space  and  pick  up  the  man 
who  is  writing  them  and  dangle  him  before  Eileen  and  say  to 
her:  "Take  him.  I  dare  you  to  take  him."  And  my  con 
fidence,  Linda,  is  positively  supreme  that  she  could  not  do  it. 

You  know,  between  us,  Linda,  we  regarded  Eileen  as  a  rare 
creature,  a  kind  of  exotic  thing,  made  to  be  kept  in  a  glass  house 
with  tempered  air  and  warmed  water;  but  as  I  go  about  the  city 
and  at  times  amuse  myself  at  concerts  and  theatres,  I  am  rather 
dazed  to  tell  you,  honey,  that  the  world  is  chock  full  of  Eileens. 
On  the  streets,  in  the  stores,  everywhere  I  go,  sometimes  half  a 
dozen  times  in  a  day  I  say  to  myself:  "There  goes  Eileen." 
I  haven't  a  doubt  that  Eileen  has  a  heart,  if  it  has  not  become 
so  calloused  that  nobody  could  ever  reach  it,  and  I  suspect  she 
has  a  soul,  but  the  more  I  see  of  her  kind  the  more  I  feel  that 
John  Gilman  may  have  to  breast  rather  black  water  before  he 
finds  them. 

With  dearest  love,  be  sure  to  remember  me  to  Katherine 
O 'Donovan.  Hug  her  tight  and  give  her  my  unqualified  love. 
Don't  let  her  forget  me. 

As  ever, 

MARIAN. 

This  was  the  letter  that  Linda  read  once,  then  she  read 
it  again  and  then  she  read  it  a  third  time,  and  after  that 
she  lost  count  and  re-read  it  whenever  she  was  not  busy 
doing  something  else,  for  it  was  a  letter  that  was  the  next 
thing  to  laying  hands  upon  Marian.  The  part  of  the  let 
ter  concerning  the  unknown  man  who  was  writing  Marian, 
Linda  pondered  over  deeply. 

"That  is  the  best  thkig  I  ever  did  in  my  life,"  she  said  in 


SPANISH  IRIS  241 

self-commendation.  "It's  doing  more  than  I  hoped  it 
would.  It's  giving  Marian  something  to  think  about. 
It's  giving  her  an  interest  in  life.  It's  distracting  her 
attention.  Without  saying  a  word  about  John  Gilman 
it  is  making  her  see  for  herself  the  weak  spots  in  him 
through  the  very  subtle  method  of  calling  her  attention 
to  the  strength  that  may  lie  in  another  man.  For  once  in 
your  life,  Linda,  you  have  done  something  strictly  worth 
while.  The  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  keep  it  up,  and  in 
order  to  keep  it  up,  to  make  each  letter  fresh  and  original, 
you  will  have  to  do  a  good  deal  of  sticking  around  Peter 
Morrison's  location  and  absorbing  rather  thoroughly  the 
things  he  says.  Peter  doesn't  know  he  is  writing  those 
letters,  but  he  is  in  them  till  it's  a  wonder  Marian  does  not 
hear  him  drawl  and  see  the  imps  twisting  his  lips  as  she 
reads  them.  Before  I  write  another  single  one  I'll  go  see 
Peter.  Maybe  he  will  have  that  article  written.  I'll  take 
a  pencil,  and  as  he  reads  I'll  jot  down  the  salient  points  and 
then  I'll  come  home  and  work  out  a  head  and  tail  piece 
for  him  to  send  in  with  it,  and  in  that  way  I'll  ease  my  soul 
about  the  skylight  and  the  fireplace." 

So  Linda  took  pad  and  pencils,  raided  Katy  for  every 
thing  she  could  find  that  was  temptingly  edible,  climbed 
into  the  Bear-cat,  and  went  to  see  Peter  as  frankly  as  she 
would  have  crossed  the  lawn  to  visit  Marian.  He  was  not 
in  the  garage  when  she  stopped  her  car  before  it,  but  the 
workmen  told  her  that  he  had  strolled  up  the  mountain 
and  that  probably  he  would  return  soon.  Learning  that  he 
had  been  gone  but  a  short  time,  Linda  set  the  Bear-cat 


242  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

squalling  at  the  top  of  its  voice.  Then  she  took  possession 
of  the  garage,  and  clearing  Peter's  work  table  spread 
upon  it  the  food  she  had  brought,  and  then  started  out  to 
find  some  flowers  for  decorations.  When  Peter  came  upon 
the  scene  he  found  Linda,  flushed  and  brilliant  eyed,  hold 
ing  before  him  a  big  bouquet  of  alder  bloom,  the  last  of 
the  lilacs  she  had  found  in  a  cool,  shaded  place,  pink  filaree, 
blue  lupin,  and  white  mahogany  panicles. 

"Peter,"  she  cried,  "you  can't  guess  what  I  have  been 
doing!" 

Peter  glanced  at  the  flowers. 

"Isn't  it  obvious?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  said  Linda,  "because  I  am  capable  of  two 
processes  at  once.  The  work  of  my  hands  is  visible;  with 
it  I  am  going  to  decorate  your  table.  You  won't  hav«  to 
go  down  to  the  restaurant  for  your  supper  to-night  because 
I  have  brought  my  supper  up  to  share  with  you,  and  after 
we  finish,  you're  going  to  read  me  your  article  as  you  have 
re-written  it.  I  am  going  to  decorate  it  and  we  are  going 
to  make  a  hit  with  it  that  will  be  at  least  a  start  on  the 
road  to  greater  fame.  What  you  see  is  material.  You 
can  pick  it  up,  smell  it,  admire  it  and  eat  it.  But  what  I 
have  truly  been  doing  is  setting  Spanish  iris  for  yards  down 
one  side  of  the  bed  of  your  stream.  When  I  left  it  was  a 
foot  and  a  half  high,  Peter,  and  every  blue  that  the  sky  ever 
knew  in  its  loveliest  moments,  and  a  yellow  that  is  the 
concentrated  essence  of  the  best  gold  from  the  heart  of 
California.  Oh,  Peter,  there  is  enchantment  in  the  way 
1  set  it.  There  are  irregular  deep  beds,  and  there  are 


SPANISH  IRIS  243 

straggly  places  where  there  are  only  one  or  two  in  a  ragged 
streak,  and  then  it  runs  along  the  edge  in  a  fringy  rim,  and 
then  it  stretches  out  in  a  marshy  place  that  is  going  to  have 
some  other  wild  things,  arrowheads  and  orchids,  and  may 
be  a  bunch  of  paint  brush  on  a  high,  dry  spot  near  by. 
I  wish  you  could  see  it ! " 

Peter  looked  at  Linda  reflectively  and  then  he  told  her 
that  he  could  see  it.  He  told  her  that  he  adored  it,  that  he 
was  crazy  about  her  straggly  continuity  and  her  fringy 
border,  but  there  was  not  one  word  of  truth  in  what  he 
said,  because  what  he  saw  was  a  slender  thing,  willowy, 
graceful;  roughened  wavy  black  hair  hanging  half  her 
length  in  heavy  braids,  dark  eyes  and  bright  cheeks,  a 
vivid  red  line  of  mouth,  and  a  bright  brown  line  of  freckles 
bridging  a  prominent  and  aristocratic  nose.  What  he  was 
seeing  was  a  soul,  a  young  thing,  a  thing  he  coveted  with 
every  nerve  and  fibre  of  his  being.  And  while  he  glibly 
humoured  her  in  her  vision  of  decorating  his  brook,  in  his 
own  consciousness  he  was  saying  to  himself:  "Is  there  any 
reason  why  I  should  not  try  for  her?" 

And  then  he  answered  himself:  "There  is  no  reason 
in  your  life.  There  is  nothing  ugly  that  could  offend 
her  or  hurt  her.  The  reason,  the  real  reason,  probably 
lies  in  the  fact  that  if  she  were  thinking  of  caring  for 
any  one  it  would  be  for  that  attractive  young  schoolmate 
she  brought  up  here  for  me  to  exercise  my  wits  upon. 
It  is  very  likely  that  she  regards  me  in  the  light  of  a 
grandfatherly  person  to  whom  she  can  come  with  her 
joys  or  her  problems,  as  frankly  as  she  has  now.'* 


244  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

So  Peter  asked  if  the  irises  crossed  the  brook  and  ran 
down  both  sides.  Linda  sat  on  a  packing  case  and 
concentrated  on  the  iris,  and  finally  she  announced  that 
they  did.  She  informed  him  that  his  place  was  going 
to  be  natural,  that  Nature  evolved  things  in  her  own 
way.  She  did  not  grow  irises  down  one  side  of  a  brook 
and  arrowheads  down  the  other.  They  waded  across 
and  flew  across  and  visited  back  and  forth,  riding  the 
water  or  the  wind  or  the  down  of  a  bee  or  the  tail  of  a  cow. 
As  she  served  the  supper  she  had  brought  she  very  gravely 
informed  him  that  there  would  be  iris  on  both  sides 
of  his  brook,  and  cress  and  miners'  lettuce  under  the 
bridge;  and  she  knew  exactly  where  the  wild  clematis 
grew  that  would  whiten  his  embankment  after  his  work 
men  had  extracted  the  last  root  of  poison  oak. 

"It  may  not  scorch  you,  Peter,"  she  said  gravely,  "but 
you  must  look  out  for  the  Missus  and  the  little  things.  I 
haven't  definitely  decided  on  her  yet,  but  she  looks  a 
good  deal  like  Mary  Louise  Whiting  to  me.  I  saw  her  the 
other  day.  She  came  to  school  after  Donald.  I  liked  her 
looks  so  well  that  I  said  to  myself:  'Everybody  talks 
about  how  fine  she  is.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  had 
better  save  her  for  Peter7;  but  if  I  decide  to,  you  should 
get  that  poison  stuff  out,  because  it's  sure  as  shooting  to 
attack  any  one  with  the  soft,  delicate  skin  that  goes  with  a 
golden  head." 

"Oh,  let's  leave  it  in,"  said  Peter,  "and  dispense  with 
the  golden  head.  By  the  time  you  get  that  stream 
planted  as  you're  planning,  I'll  have  become  so  accustomed 


SPANISH  IRIS  245 

to  a  dark  head  bobbing  up  and  down  beside  it  that  I 
won't  take  kindly  to  a  sorrel  top." 

"That  is  positively  sacrilegious/'  said  Linda,  lifting  her 
hands  to  her  rough  black  hair.  "Never  in  my  life  saw 
anything  lovelier  than  the  rich  gold  on  Louise  Whiting's 
bare  head  as  she  bent  to  release  her  brakes  and  start  her 
car.  A  black  head  looks  like  a  cinder  bed  beside  it;  and 
only  think  what  a  sunburst  it  will  be  when  Mary  Louise 
kneels  down  beside  the  iris." 

When  they  had  finished  their  supper  Linda  gathered 
up  the  remnants  and  put  them  in  the  car,  then  she  laid 
a  note  book  and  pencil  on  the  table. 

"Now  I  want  to  hear  that  article,"  she  said.  "I  knew 
you  would  do  it  over  the  minute  I  was  gone,  and  I  knew 
you  would  keep  it  to  read  to  me  before  you  sent  it." 

"Hm,"  said  Peter.  "Is  it  second  sight  or  psycho 
analysis  or  telepathy,  or  what?" 

"Mostly  'what',"  laughed  Linda.  "I  merely  knew. 
The  workmen  are  gone  and  everything  is  quiet  now, 
Peter.  Begin.  I  am  crazy  to  get  the  particular  angle 
from  which  you  'make  the  world  safe  for  democracy.' 
John  used  to  call  our  attention  to  your  articles  during 
the  war.  He  said  we  had  not  sent  another  man  to 
France  who  could  write  as  humanely  and  as  interestingly 
as  you  did.  I  wish  I  had  kept  those  articles;  because  I 
didn't  get  anything  from  them  to  compare  with  what  I 
can  get  since  I  have  a  slight  acquaintance  with  the 
procession  that  marches  around  your  mouth.  Peter, 
you  will  have  to  watch  that  mouth  of  yours.  It's  an 


246  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

awfully  betraying  feature.  So  long  as  it's  occupied  with 
politics  and  the  fads  and  the  foibles  and  the  sins  and  the 
foolishness  and  the  extravagances  of  humanity,  it's  all 
very  well.  But  if  you  ever  get  in  trouble  or  if  ever  your 
heart  hurts,  or  you  get  mad  enough  to  kill  somebody, 
that  mouth  of  yours  is  going  to  be  a  most  awfully  revealing 
feature,  Peter.  You  will  have  hard  work  to  settle  it  down 
into  hard-and-fast  noncommittal  lines." 

Peter  looked  at  the  girl  steadily. 

"Have  you  specialized  on  my  mouth?"  he  asked. 

"Huh-umph!"  said  Linda,  shaking  her  head  vigor 
ously.  "When  I  specialize  I  use  a  pin  and  a  microscope 
and  go  right  to  the  root  of  matters  as  I  was  taught.  This 
is  superficial.  I  am  extemporizing  now." 

"Well,  if  this  is  extemporizing,"  said  Peter,  "God  help 
my  soul  if  you  ever  go  at  me  with  a  pin  and  a  microscope." 

"Oh,  but  I  won't!"  cried  Linda.  "It  wouldn't  be  kind 
to  pin  your  friends  on  a  setting  board  and  use  a  microscope 
on  them.  You  might  see  things  that  were  strictly  private. 
You  might  see  things  they  wouldnjt  want  you  to  see. 
They  might  not  be  your  friends  any  more  if  you  did  that. 
When  I  make  a  friend  I  just  take  him  on  trust  like  I  did 
Donald.  You're  my  friend,  aren't  you,  Peter?" 

"Yes,  Linda,"  said  Peter  soberly.  "Put  me  to  any  test 
you  can  think  of  if  you  want  proof." 

"But  I  don't  believe  in  proving  friends,  either,"  said 
Linda.  "I  believe  in  nurturing  them.  I  would  set  a 
friend  in  my  garden  and  water  his  feet  and  turn  the 
sunshine  on  him  and  tell  him  to  stay  there  and  grow.  I 


SPANISH  IRIS  247 

might  fertilize  him,  I  might  prune  him,  and  I  might  use 
insecticide  on  him.  I  might  spray  him  with  rather 
stringent  solutions,  but  I  give  you  my  word  I  would  not 
test  him.  If  he  flourished  under  my  care  I  would  know  it, 
and  if  he  did  not  I  would  know  it,  and  that  would  be  all 
I  would  want  to  know.  I  have  watched  Daddy  search 
for  the  seat  of  nervous  disorders,  and  sometimes  he  had  to 
probe  very  deep  to  find  what  developed  nerves  unduly, 
but  he  didn't  ever  do  any  picking  and  ravelling  and  fring 
ing  at  the  soul  of  a  human  being  merely  for  the  sake  of 
finding  out  what  it  was  made  of;  and  everyone  says  I  am 
like  him." 

"I  wish  I  might  have  known  him,"  said  Peter. 

"Don't  I  wish  it!"  said  Linda.  "Now  then,  Peter,  go 
ahead.  Read  your  article." 

Peter  opened  a  packing  case,  picked  out  a  sheaf  of 
papers,  and  sitting  opposite  Linda,  began  to  read.  He 
was  dumbfounded  t*o  find  that  he,  a  man  who  had  read 
and  talked  extemporaneously  before  great  bodies  of 
learned  men,  should  have  cold  feet  and  shaking  hands  and 
a  hammering  heart  because  he  was  trying  to  read  an 
article  on  America  for  Americans  before  a  high-school 
Junior.  But  presently,  as  the  theme  engrossed  him,  he 
forgot  the  vision  of  Linda  interesting  herself  in  his  home- 
making,  and  saw  instead  a  vision  of  his  country  threatened 
on  one  side  by  the  red  menace  of  the  Bolshevik,  on  the 
other  by  the  yellow  menace  of  the  Jap,  and  yet  on  another 
by  the  treachery  of  the  Mexican  and  the  slowly  uprising 
might  of  the  black  man,  and  presently  he  was  thundering 


248  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

his  best-considered  arguments  at  Linda  until  she  imper 
ceptibly  drew  back  from  him  on  the  packing  case,  and  with 
parted  lips  and  wide  eyes  she  listened  in  utter  absorption. 
She  gazed  at  a  transformed  Peter  with  aroused  eyes  and 
a  white  light  of  patriotism  on  his  forehead,  and  a  concep 
tion  even  keener  than  anything  that  the  war  had  brought 
her  young  soul  was  burning  in  her  heart  of  what  a  man 
means  when  he  tries  to  express  his  feeling  concerning  the 
land  of  his  birth.  Presently,  without  realizing  what  she 
was  doing,  she  reached  for  her  pad  and  pencils  and  rapidly 
began  sketching  a  stretch  of  peaceful  countryside  over 
which  a  coming  storm  of  gigantic  proportions  was  gather 
ing.  Fired  by  Peter's  article,  the  touch  of  genius  in 
Linda's  soul  became  creative  and  she  fashioned  huge 
storm  clouds,  wind  driven,  that  floated  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  bring  the  merest  suggestion  of  menacing  faces, 
black  faces,  yellow  faces,  brown  faces,  and  under  the 
flash  of  lightning,  just  at  the  obscuring  of  the  sun,  a 
huge,  evil,  leering  red  face.  She  swept  a  stroke  across 
her  sheet  and  below  this  she  began  again,  sketching  the 
same  stretch  of  country  she  had  pictured  above,  stroking 
in  cultivated  fields,  dotting  it  with  white  cities,  connecting 
it  with  smooth  roadways,  sweeping  the  sky  with  giant 
planes.  At  one  side,  winging  in  from  the  glow  of  morning, 
she  drew  in  the  strong-winged  flight  of  a  flock  of  sea 
swallows,  peacefully  homing  toward  the  far-distant  ocean. 
She  was  utterly  unaware  when  Peter  stopped  reading. 
Absorbed,  she  bent  over  her  work.  When  she  had 
finished  she  looked  up. 


SPANISH  IRIS  249 

"Now  I'll  take  this  home,"  she  said.  "I  can't  do  well 
on  colour  with  pencils.  You  hold  that  article  till  I  have 
time  to  put  this  on  water-colour  paper  and  touch  it  up  a 
bit  here  and  there,  and  I  believe  it  will  be  worthy  of 
starting  and  closing  your  article." 

She  pushed  the  sketches  toward  him. 

"You  little  wonder!"  said  Peter  softly. 

"Yes,  'little'  is  good,"  scoffed  Linda,  rising  to  very 
nearly  his  height  and  reaching  for  the  lunch  basket. 
"'Little'  is  good,  Peter.  If  I  could  do  what  I  like  to  my 
self  I  would  get  in  some  kind  of  a  press  and  squash  down 
about  seven  inches." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  said  Peter.  "Forget  it.  What's  the 
difference  what  the  inches  of  your  body  are  so  long  as 
your  brain  has  a  stature  worthy  of  mention?" 

"Good-bye!"  said  Linda.  "On  the  strength  of  that 
I'll  jazz  that  sketch  all  up,  bluey  and  red-purple  and  jade- 
green.  I'll  make  it  as  glorious  as  a  Catalina  sunset." 

As  she  swung  the  car  around  the  sharp  curve  at  the 
boulders  she  looked  back  and  laughingly  waved  her  hand 
at  Peter,  and  Peter  experienced  a  wild  desire  to  shriek 
lest  she  lose  control  of  the  car  and  plunge  down  the  steep 
incline.  A  second  later,  when  he  saw  her  securely  on  the 
road  below,  he  smiled  to  himself. 

"Proves  one  thing,"  he  said  conclusively.  "She  is 
over  the  horrors.  She  is  driving  unconsciously.  Thank 
God  she  knew  that  curve  so  well  she  could  look  the  other 
way  and  drive  it  mentally." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

p 

THE  OFFICIAL  BUG-CATCH-ER 

NOT  a  mile  below  the  exit  from  Peter's  grounds, 
Linda  perceived  a  heavily  laden  person  toiling 
down  the  roadway  before  her  and  when  she  ran 
her  car  abreast  and  stopped  it,  Henry  Anderson  looked 
up  at  her  with  joyful  face. 

"Sorry  I  can't  uncover,  fair  lady,"  he  said,  "but  you 
see  I  am  very  much  otherwise  engaged." 

What  Linda  saw  was  a  tired,  dishevelled  man  standing  in 
the  roadway  beside  her  car,  under  each  arm  a  boulder  the  size 
of  her  head,  one  almost  jet-black,  shot  through  with  lines 
of  white  and  flying  figures  of  white  crossing  between  these 
bands  that  almost  reminded  one  of  winged  dancers.  The 
other  was  a  combination  stone  made  up  of  matrix  thickly 
imbedded  with  pebbles  of  brown,  green,  pink,  and  dull  blue. 

"r'or  pity's  sake!"  said  Linda.  "Where  are  you  going 
and  why  are  you  personally  demonstrating  a  new  method 
of  transporting  rock?" 

"I  am  on  my  way  down  Lilac  Valley  to  the  residence  of 
a  friend  of  mine,"  said  Henry  Anderson.  "I  heard  her 
say  the  other  day  that  she  saved  every  peculiarly  marked 
boulder  she  could  find  to  preserve  coolness  and  moisture 
in  her  fern  bed." 

250 


THE  OFFICIAL  BUG-CATCHER  251 

Linda  leaned  over  and  opened  the  car  door. 

"All  well  and  good,"  she  said;  "but  why  in  the  cause  of 
reason  didn't  you  leave  them  at  Peter's  and  bring  them 
down  in  his  car?" 

Henry  Anderson  laid  the  stones  in  the  bottom  of  the 
car,  stepped  in  and  closed  the  door  behind  him.  He  drew 
a  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  wiped  his  perspiring 
face  and  soiled  hands. 

"I  had  two  sufficient  personal  reasons,"  he  said.  "One 
was  that  the  car  at  our  place  is  Peter  Morrison's  car,  not 
mine;  and  the  other  was  that  it's  none  of  anybody's 
business  but  my  own  if  I  choose  to  'say  it'  with  stones." 

Linda  started  the  car,  being  liberal  with  gas — so  liberal 
that  it  was  only  a  few  minutes  till  Henry  Anderson 
protested. 

"This  isn't  the  speedway,"  he  said.  "What's  your 
hurry?" 

"Two  reasons  seem  to  be  all  that  are  allowed  for 
things  at  the  present  minute,"  answered  Linda.  "One 
of  mine  is  that  you  can't  drive  this  beast  slow,  and  the 
other  is  that  my  workroom  is  piled  high  with  things  I 
should  be  doing.  I  have  two  sketches  I  must  complete 
while  I  am  in  the  mood,  and  I  have  had  a  great  big  letter 
from  my  friend,  Marian  Thome,  to-day  that  I  want  to 
answer  before  I  go  to  bed  to-night." 

"In  other  words,"  said  Henry  Anderson  bluntly,  "you 
want  me  to  understand  that  when  I  have  reached  your 
place  and  dumped  these  stones  I  can  beat  it;  you  have  no 
further  use  for  me." 


252  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"You  said  that,"  retorted  Linda. 

"And  who  ever  heard  of  such 'a  thing,"  said  Henry,  "as 
a  young  woman  sending  away  a  person  of  my  numerous 
charms  and  attractions  in  order  to  work,  or  to  write  a 
letter  to  another  woman?" 

"But  you're  not  taking  into  consideration,"  said 
Linda,  "that  I  must  work,  and  I  scarcely  know  you, 
while  I  have  known  Marian  ever  since  I  was  four  years 
old,  and  she  is  my  best  friend." 

"Well,  she  has  no  advantage  over  me,"  said  Henry  in 
stantly,  "because  I  have  known  you  quite  as  long  as 
Peter  Morrison  has  at  least,  and  I'm  your  official  bug- 
catcher." 

"I  had  almost  forgotten  about  the  bugs,"  said  Linda. 

"Well,  don't  for  a  minute  think  I  am  going  to  give  you 
an  opportunity  to  forget,"  said  Henry  Anderson. 

He  reached  across  and  laid  his  hand  over  Linda's  on  the 
steering  gear.  Linda  said  nothing,  neither  did  she 
move.  She  merely  added  more  gas  and  put  the  Bear-cat 
forward  at  a  dizzy  whirl.  Henry  laughed. 

"That's  all  right,  my  beauty,"  he  said.  "Don't  you 
think  for  a  minute  that  I  can't  ride  as  fast  as  you  can 
drive." 

A  dull  red  mottled  Linda's  cheeks.  As  quickly  as  it 
could  be  done  she  brought  the  Bear-cat  to  a  full  stop. 
Then  she  turned  and  looked  at  Henry  Anderson.  The 
expression  in  her  eyes  was  disconcerting  even  to  that 
cheeky  young  individual — he  had  not  borne  her  gaze  a  sec 
ond  until  he  removed  his  hand. 


THE  OFFICIAL  BUG-CATCHER  253 

"Thanks,"  said  Linda  in  a  dry  drawl.  "And  you  will 
add  to  my  obligation  if  in  the  future  you  will  remember 
not  to  deal  in  assumptions.  I  am  not  your  'beauty',  and 
I'm  not  any  one's  beauty;  while  the  only  thing  in  this 
world  that  I  am  interested  in  at  present  is  to  get  the  best 
education  I  can  and  at  the  same  time  carry  on  work  that 
I  love  to  do.  I  have  a  year  to  finish  my  course  in  the 
High  School  and  when  I  finish  I  will  only  have  a  good  be 
ginning  for  whatever  I  decide  to  study  next." 

"That's  nothing,"  said  the  irrepressible  Henry.  "It 
will  take  me  two  years  to  catch  a  sufficient  number  of 
gold  bugs  to  be  really  serious,  but  there  wouldn't  be  any 
harm  in  having  a  mutual  understanding  and  something 
definite  to  work  for,  and  then  we  might  be  able,  you 
know,  to  cut  out  some  of  that  year  of  High-School 
grinding.  If  the  plans  I  have  submitted  in  the  Nicholson 
and  Snow  contest  should  just  happen  to  be  the  prize 
winners,  that  would  put  matters  in  such  a  shape  for 
young  Henry  that  he  could  devote  himself  to  crickets 
and  tumble-bugs  at  once." 

"Don't  you  think,"  said  Linda  quietly,  "that  you 
would  better  forget  that  silly  jesting  and  concentrate  the 
best  of  your  brains  on  improving  your  plans  for  Peter 
Morrison's  house?" 

"Why,  surely  I  will  if  that's  what  you  command  me  to 
do,"  said  Henry,  purposely  misunderstanding  her. 

"You  haven't  mentioned  before,"  said  Linda,  "that  you 
had  submitted  plans  in  that  San  Francisco  contest." 

"All  done  and  gone,"  said  Henry  Anderson  lightly. 


254  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"I  had  an  inspiration  one  day  and  I  saw  a  way  to  im 
prove  a  house  with  comforts  and  conveniences  I  never 
had  thought  of  before.  I  was  enthusiastic  over  the  pro 
duction  when  I  got  it  on  paper  and  figured  it.  It's  ex 
actly  the  house  that  I  am  going  to  build  for  Peter,  and 
when  I've  cut  my  eye  teeth  on  it  I  am  going  to  correct 
everything  possible  and  build  it  in  perfection  for  you." 

"Look  here,"  said  Linda  soberly,  "I'm  not  accustomed 
to  this  sort  of  talk.  I  don't  care  for  it.  If  you  want 
to  preserve  even  the  semblance  of  friendship  with  me 
you  must  stop  it,  and  get  to  impersonal  matters  and  stay 
there." 

"All  right,"  he  agreed  instantly,  "but  if  you  don't  like 
my  line  of  talk,  you're  the  first  girl  I  ever  met  that  didn't." 

"You  have  my  sympathy,"  said  Linda  gravely.  "You 
have  been  extremely  unfortunate." 

Then  she  started  the  Bear-cat,  and  again  running  at 
undue  speed  she  reached  her  wild-flower  garden.  Henry 
Anderson  placed  the  stones  as  she  directed  and  waited  for 
an  invitation  to  come  in,  but  the  invitation  was  not  given. 
Linda  thanked  him  for  the  stones.  She  told  him  that  in 
combination  with  a  few  remaining  from  the  mantel  they 
would  make  all  she  would  require,  and  excusing  herself 
she  drove  to  the  garage.  When  she  came  in  she  found 
the  irrepressible  Henry  sitting  on  the  back  steps  explaining 
to  Katy  the  strenuous  time  he  had  had  finding  and  carry 
ing  down  the  stones  they  had  brought.  Katy  had  a  plate 
of  refreshments  ready  to  hand  him  when  Linda  laughingly 
passed  them  and  went  to  her  room. 


THE  OFFICIAL  BUG-CATCHER  255 

When  she  had  finished  her  letter  to  Marian  she  took 
a  sheet  of  drawing  paper,  and  in  her  most  attractive 
lettering  sketched  in  the  heading,  "A  Palate  Teaser,  "which 
was  a  direct  quotation  from  Katy.  Below  she  wrote: 

You  will  find  Tunas  in  the  cacti  thickets  of  any  desert,  but  if 
you  are  so  fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  reach  specimens  which 
were  brought  from  Mexico  and  set  as  hedges  around  the  gardens 
of  the  old  missions,  you  will  find  there  the  material  for  this  salad 
in  its  most  luscious  form.  Naturally  it  can  be  made  from  either 
Opuntia  Fiscus-Jndica  or  Opuntia  Tuna,  but  a  combination  of 
these  two  gives  the  salad  an  exquisite  appearance  and  a  tiny 
touch  more  delicious  flavour,  because  Tuna,  which  is  red,  has 
to  my  taste  a  trifle  richer  and  fuller  flavour  than  Indica,  which 
is  yellow.  Both  fruits  taste  more  like  the  best  well-ripened 
watermelon  than  any  other  I  recall. 

Bring  down  the  Tunas  with  a  fishing  rod  or  a  long  pole  with  a 
nail  in  the  end.  With  anything  save  your  fingers  roll  them  in 
the  sand  or  in  tufts  of  grass  to  remove  the  spines.  Slice  off 
either  end,  score  the  skin  down  one  side,  press  lightly,  and  a  lush 
globule  of  pale  gold  or  rosy  red  fruit  larger  than  a  hen's  egg  lies 
before  you.  With  a  sharp  knife,  beginning  with  a  layer  of  red 
and  ending  with  one  of  yellow,  slice  the  fruits  thinly,  stopping 
to  shake  out  the  seeds  as  you  work.  In  case  you  live  in  San 
Diego  County  or  farther  south,  where  it  is  possible  to  secure  the 
scarlet  berries  of  the  Strawberry  Cactus — it  is  the  Mammillaria 
Goodridgei  species  that  you  should  use — a  beautiful  decoration 
for  finishing  your  salad  can  be  made  from  the  red  strawberries 
of  these.  If  you  live  too  far  north  to  find  these,  you  may  send 
your  salad  to  the  table  beautifully  decorated  by  cutting  fancy 
figures  from  the  red  Tuna,  or  by  slicing  it  lengthwise  into  oblong 
pieces  and  weaving  them  into  a  decoration  over  the  yellow  back 
ground. 


256  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

For  your  dressing  use  the  juice  of  a  lemon  mixed  with  that  of 
an  orange,  sweetened  to  taste,  into  which  you  work,  a  drop  at  a 
time,  four  tablespoons  of  the  best  Palermo  olive  oil.  If  the  salad 
is  large  more  oil  and  more  juice  should  be  used. 

To  get  the  full  deliciousness  of  this  salad,  the  fruit  must  have 
been  on  ice,  and  the  dressing  made  in  a  bowl  imbedded  in  cracked 
ice,  so  that  when  ready  to  blend  both  are  ice-cold,  and  must  be 
served  immediately. 

Gigantic  specimens  of  fruit-bearing  Cacti  can  be  found  all  over 
the  Sunland  Desert  near  to  the  city,  but  they  are  not  possessed 
of  the  full  flavour  of  the  cultivated  old  mission  growths,  so  that 
it  is  well  worth  your  while  to  make  a  trip  to  the  nearest  of  these 
for  the  fruit  with  which  to  prepare  this  salad.  And  if,  as  you 
gather  it,  you  should  see  a  vision  of  a  wrhite  head,  a  thin,  ascetic, 
old  face,  a  lean  figure  trailing  a  brown  robe,  slender  white  hands 
clasping  a  heavy  cross;  if  you  should  hear  the  music  of  worship 
ascending  from  the  throats  of  Benedictine  fathers  leading  a 
clamouring  choir  of  the  blended  voices  of  Spaniard,  Mexican,  and 
Indian,  combining  with  the  music  of  the  bells  and  the  songs  of 
the  mocking  birds,  nest  making  among  the  Tunas,  it  will  be  good 
for  your  soul  in  the  line  of  purging  it  from  selfishness,  since  in  this 
day  we  are  not  asked  to  give  all  of  life  to  the  service  of  others, 
only  a  reasonable  part  of  it. 

Linda  read  this  over,  working  in  changes  here  and 
there,  then  she  picked  up  her  pencil  and  across  the  top  of 
her  sheet  indicated  an  open  sky  with  scarcely  a  hint  of 
cloud.  Across  the  bottom  she  outlined  a  bit  of  Sunland 
Desert  she  well  remembered,  in  the  foreground  a  bed  of 
flat-leaved  nopal,  flowering  red  and  yellow,  the  dark  red 
prickly  pears,  edible,  being  a  near  relative  of  the  fruits  she 
had  used  in  her  salad.  After  giving  the  prickly  pear  the 


THE  OFFICIAL  BUG-CATCHER  257 

place  of  honour  to  the  left,  in  higher  growth  she  worked 
in  the  slender,  cylindrical,  jointed  stems  of  the  Cholla, 
shading  the  flowers  a  paler,  greenish  yellow.  On  the 
right,  balancing  the  Cholla,  she  drew  the  oval,  cylindrical 
columns  of  the  hedgehog  cactus,  and  the  colour  touch  of 
the  big  magenta  flowers  blended  exquisitely  with  the 
colour  she  already  had  used.  At  the  left,  the  length  of 
her  page,  she  drew  a  gigantic  specimen  of  Opuntia  Tuna, 
covered  with  flowers,  and  well-developed  specimens  of  the 
pears  whose  colouring  ran  into  the  shades  of  the  hedgehog 
cactus. 

She  was  putting  away  her  working  materials  when  she 
heard  steps  and  voices  on  the  stairs,  so  she  knew  that 
Eileen  and  John  Oilman  were  coming.  She  did  not  in 
the  least  want  them,  yet  she  could  think  of  no  excuse  for 
refusing  them  admission  that  would  not  seem  ungracious. 
She  hurried  to  the  wall,  snatched  down  the  paintings  for 
Peter  Morrison,  and  looked  around  to  see  how  she  could 
dispose  of  them.  She  ended  by  laying  one  of  them  in  a 
large  drawer  which  she  pushed  shut  and  locked.  The 
other  she  placed  inside  a  case  in  the  wall  which  formerly 
had  been  used  for  billiard  cues.  At  their  second  tap  she 
opened  the  door.  Eileen  was  not  at  her  best.  There  was 
a  worried  look  across  her  eyes,  a  restlessness  visible  in  her 
movements,  but  Gilman  was  radiant. 

"What  do  you  think,  Linda?"  he  cried.  "Eileen  has 
just  named  the  day!" 

"I  did  no  such  thing,"  broke  in  Eileen. 

"Your  pardon,  fair  lady,  you  did  not,"  said  Gilman. 


258  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"That  was  merely  a  figure  of  speech.  I  meant  named 
the  month.  She  has  definitely  promised  in  October, 
and  I  may  begin  to  hunt  a  location  and  plan  a  home  for  us. 
I  want  the  congratulations  of  my  dear  friend  and  my 
dearer  sister." 

Linda  held  out  her  hand  and  smiled  as  bravely  as  she 
could. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  are  so  pleased,  John,"  she  said 
quietly;  "and  I  hope  that  you  will  be  as  happy  as  you 
deserve  to  be." 

"Now  exactly  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  Linda  prides  herself  on  being  deep  and  subtle  and 
conveying  hidden  meanings,"  said  Eileen.  "She  means 
what  a  thousand  people  will  tell  you  in  the  coming  months : 
merely  that  they  hope  you  will  be  happy." 

"Of  course,"  Linda  hastened  to  corroborate,  wishing  if 
possible  to  avoid  any  unpleasantness. 

"You  certainly  have  an  attractive  workroom  here," 
said  John,  "much  as  I  hate  to  see  it  spoiled  for  billiards." 

"It's  too  bad,"  said  Linda,  "that  I  have  spoiled  it  for 
you  for  billiards.  I  have  also  spoiled  the  outside  ap 
pearance  of  the  house  for  Eileen." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  John.  "I  looked  at  it  care 
fully  the  other  day  as  I  came  up,  and  I  thought  your 
changes  enhanced  the  value  of  the  property." 

"I  am  surely  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Linda.  "Take  a 
look  through  my  skylight  and  my  new  window.  Imagine 
you  see  the  rugs  I  am  going  to  have  and  a  few  more  pieces 
of  furniture  when  I  can  afford  them;  and  let  me  particu- 


THE  OFFICIAL  BUG-CATCHER  259 

larly  point  out  the  fireplace  that  Henry  Anderson  and 
your  friend^Peter  designed  and  had  built  for  me.  Doesn't 
it  add  a  soul  and  a  heart  to  my  study?" 

John  Oilman  walked  over  and  looked  at  the  fireplace 
critically.  He  read  the  lines  aloud,  then  he  turned  to 
Eileen. 

"Why,  that  is  perfectly  beautiful,"  he  said.  "Let's 
duplicate  it  in  our  home." 

"You  bungler!"  scoffed  Eileen. 

"I  think  you're  right,"  said  Oilman  reflectively, 
"exactly  right.  Of  course  I  would  have  no  business  copy 
ing  Linda's  special  fireplace  where  the  same  people  would 
see  it  frequently;  and  if  I  had  stopped  to  think  a  second,  I 
might  have  known  that  you  would  prefer  tiling  to  field 


stone." 


"Linda  seems  very  busy  to-night,"  said  Eileen.  "Per 
haps  we  are  bothering  her." 

"Yes,"  said  John,  "we'll  go  at  once.  I  had  to  run  up  to 
tell  our  good  news;  and  I  wanted  to  tell  you  too,  Linda 
dear,  that  I  think  both  of  us  misjudged  Eileen  the  other 
day.  You  know,  Linda,  you  have  always  dressed  accord 
ing  to  your  father's  ideas,  which  were  so  much  simpler 
and  plainer  than  the  manner  in  which  y»our  mother  dressed 
Eileen,  that  she  merely  thought  that  you  wished  to  con 
tinue  in  his  way.  She  had  no  objection  to  your  having 
any  kind  of  clothes  you  chose,  if  only  you  had  confided  in 
her,  and  explained  to  her  what  you  wanted." 

Linda  stood  beside  her  table,  one  lean  hand  holding 
down  the  letter  she  had  been  writing.  She  stood  very 


260  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

still,  but  she  was  powerless  to  raise  her  eyes  to  the  face  of 
either  John  or  Eileen.  Above  everything  she  did  not  wish 
to  go  any  further  in  revealing  Eileen  to  John  Gilman.  If 
he  knew  what  he  knew  and  if  he  felt  satisfied,  after  what 
he  had  seen,  with  any  explanation  that  Eileen  could  trump 
up  to  offer,  Linda  had  no  desire  to  carry  the  matter  fur 
ther.  She  had  been  ashamed  of  what  she  already  had 
done.  She  had  felt  angry  and  dissatisfied  with  herself, 
so  she  stood  before  them  downcast  and  silent. 

"And  it  certainly  was  a  great  joke  on  both  of  us/'  said 
John  jovially,  "what  we  thought  about  that  box  of  ciga 
rettes,  you  know.  They  were  a  prize  given  by  a  bridge 
club  at  an  'Ambassador'  benefit  for  the  Good  Samaritan 
Hospital.  Eileen,  the  little  card  shark  she  is,  won  it, 
and  she  was  keeping  it  hidden  away  there  to  use  as  a  gift 
for  my  birthday.  Since  we  disclosed  her  plans  pre 
maturely,  she  gave  it  to  me  at  once,  and  I'm  having  a 
great  time  treating  all  my  friends." 

At  that  instant  Linda  experienced  a  revulsion.  Pre 
viously  she  had  not  been  able  to  raise  her  eyes.  Now  it 
would  have  been  quite  impossible  to  avoid  looking  straight 
into  Eileen's  face.  But  Eileen  had  no  intention  of  meet 
ing  any  one's  gaze  at  that  minute.  She  was  fidgeting 
with  a  sheet  of  drawing  paper. 

"Careful  you  don't  bend  that,"  cautioned  Linda. 
Then  she  looked  at  John  Gilman.  He  believed  what  he 
was  saying;  he  was  happy  again.  Linda  evolved  the  best 
smile  she  could. 

"How  stupid  of  us  not  to  have  guessed!"  she  said. 


THE  OFFICIAL  BUG-CATCHER  261 

Closing  the  door  behind  them,  Linda  leaned  against 
it  and  looked  up  through  the  skylight  at  the  deep  blue  of 
the  night,  the  low-hung  stars.  How  long  she  stood  there 
she  did  not  know.  Presently  she  went  to  her  chair, 
picked  up  her  pencil,  and  slowly  began  to  draw.  At  first 
she  scarcely  realized  what  she  was  doing,  then  she  be 
came  absorbed  in  her  work.  Then  she  reached  for  her 
colour  box  and  brushes,  and  shortly  afterward  tacked 
against  the  wall  an  extremely  clever  drawing  of  a  greatly 
enlarged  wasp.  Skilfully  she  had  sketched  a  face  that 
was  recognizable  round  the  big  insect  eyes.  She  had  sur 
mounted  the  face  by  a  fluff  of  bejewelled  yellow  curls, 
encased  the  hind  legs  upon  which  the  creature  stood  up 
right  in  pink  velvet  Turkish  trousers  and  put  tiny  gold 
shoes  on  the  feet.  She  greatly  exaggerated  the  wings  into 
long  trails  and  made  them  of  green  gauze  with  ruffled 
edges.  All  the  remainder  of  the  legs  she  had  transformed 
into  so  many  braceleted  arms,  each  holding  a  tiny  fan,  or 
a  necklace,  a  jewel  box,  or  a  handkerchief  of  lace.  She 
stood  before  this  sketch,  studying  it  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
she  walked  over  to  the  table  and  came  back  with  a  big 
black  pencil.  Steadying  her  hand  with  a  mahl  stick  rested 
against  the  wall,  with  one  short  sharp  stroke  she  drew  a 
needle-pointed  stinger,  so  screened  by  the  delicate  wings 
that  it  could  not  be  seen  unless  you  scrutinized  the  pic 
ture  minutely.  After  that,  with  careful,  interested  hands 
she  brought  out  Peter  Morrison's  drawings  and  replaced 
them  on  the  wall  to  dry. 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  CAP  SHEAF 

TOWARD  the  last  of  the  week  Linda  began  to  clear 
the  mental  decks  of  her  ship  of  life  in  order  that 
she   might  have  Saturday  free  for  her  promised 
day  with  Donald.      She  had  decided  that  they  would  de 
vote  that   day  to  wave-beaten  Laguna.     It  was  a  long 
drive  but  delightful.     It  ran  over  the  old  King's  Highway 
between  miles  of  orange  and  lemon  orchards  in  full  flower, 
bordered  by  other  miles  of  roses  in  their  prime. 

Every  minute  when  her  mind  was  not  actively  occupied 
with  her  lessons  or  her  recipes  Linda  was  dreaming  of  the 
King's  Highway.  Almost  unconsciously  she  began  to 
chant: 

"All  in  the  golden  weather,  forth  let  us  ride  to-day, 
You  and  I  together  on  the  King's  Highway, 
The  blue  skies  above  us,  and  below  the  shining  sea; 
There's  many  a  road  to  travel,  but  it's  this  road  for  me." 

You  must  have  ridden  this  road  wi  Ji  an  understanding 
heart  and  the  arm  of  God  around  you  to  know  the 
exact  degree  of  disappointment  that  swelled  in  Linda's 
heart  when  she  answered  the  telephone  early  Saturday 
morning  and  heard  Donald  Whiting's  strained  voice 

262 


THE  CAP  SHEAF  263 

speaking  into  it.  He  was  talking  breathlessly  in  eager, 
boyish  fashion. 

"Linda,  I  am  in  a  garage  halfway  down  town,"  he  was 
saying,  "and  it  looks  to  me  as  if  to  save  my  soul  I  couldn't 
reach  you  before  noon.  I  have  had  the  darnedest  luck. 
Our  Jap  got  sick  last  week  and  he  sent  a  new  man  to  take 
his  place.  There  wasn't  a  thing  the  matter  with  our  car 
when  I  drove  it  in  Friday  night.  This  morning  Father 
wanted  to  use  it  on  important  business,  and  it  wouldn't 
run.  He  ordered  me  to  tinker  it  up  enough  to  get  it  to 
the  shop.  I  went  at  it  and  when  it  would  go,  I  started. 
You  can  imagine  the  clip  I  was  going,  and  the  thing  went 
to  pieces.  I  don't  know  yet  how  it  comes  that  I  saved 
my  skin.  I'm  pretty  badly  knocked  out,  but  I'll  get 
there  by  noon  if  it's  a  possible  thing." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Linda,  fervently  hoping 
that  the  ache  in  her  throat  would  not  tincture  her 
voice. 

It  was  half-past  eleven  when  Donald  came.  Linda 
could  not  bring  herself  to  give  up  the  sea  that  day.  She 
found  it  impossible  to  drive  the  King's  Highway.  It 
seemed  equally  impossible  not  to  look  on  the  face  of  the 
ocean,  so  she  compromised  by  skirting  Santa  Monica 
Bay,  and  taking  the  foothill  road  she  ran  it  to  the  north 
end  of  the  beach  drive.  When  they  had  spread  their 
blankets  on  the  sand,  finished  their  lunch  and  were 
resting,  Linda  began  to  question  Donald  about  what 
had  happened.  She  wanted  to  know  how  long  Whitings' 
gardener  had  been  in  their  employ;  if  they  knew  where 


264  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

he  lived  and  about  his  family;  if  they  knew  who  his 
friends  were,  or  anything  concerning  him.  She  inquired 
about  the  man  who  had  taken  his  place,  and  wanted  most 
particularly  to  know  what  the  garage  men  had  found 
the  trouble  with  a  car  that  ran  perfectly  on  Friday 
night,  and  broke  down  in  half  a  dozen  different  places 
on  Saturday  morning.  Finally  Donald  looked  at  her, 
laughingly  quizzical. 

"Linda,"  he  said,  "you're  no  nerve  specialist  and  no 
naturalist.  You're  the  cross  examiner  for  the  plaintiff. 
What  are  you  trying  to  get  at?  Make  out  a  case  against 
Yogo  Sani?" 

"Of  course  it's  all  right,"  said  Linda,  watching  a  distant 
pelican  turn  head  down  and  catapult  into  the  sea.  "It 
has  to  be  all  right,  but  you  must  admit  that  it  looks  pe 
culiar.  How  have  you  been  getting  along  this  week?" 

Donald  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  a  formation 
of  stone  the  size  of  a  small  house. 

"  Been  rolling  that  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,"  he  said 
lightly. 

Linda's  eyes  narrowed,  her  face  grew  speculative.  She 
looked  at  Donald  intently. 

"Is  it  as  difficult  as  that?"  she  asked  in  a  lowered  voice 
as  if  the  surf  and  the  sea  chickens  might  hear. 

"It  is  just  as  difficult  as  that,"  said  Donald.  "While 
you're  talking  about  peculiar  things,  I'll  tell  you  one. 
In  class  I  came  right  up  against  Oka  Sayye  on  the  solu 
tion  of  a  theorem  in  trigonometry.  We  both  had  the 
answer,  the  correct  answer,  but  we  had  arrived  at  it  by 


THE  CAP  SHEAF  265 

widely  different  routes,  and  it  was  up  to  me  to  prove  that 
my  line  of  reasoning  was  more  lucid,  more  natural,  the  in* 
evitable  one  by  which  the  solution  should  be  reached. 
We  got  so  in  earnest  that  I  am  afraid  both  of  us  were 
rather  tense.  I  stepped  over  to  his  demonstration  to 
point  out  where  I  thought  his  reasoning  was  wrong.  I  got 
closer  to  the  Jap  than  I  had  ever  been  before;  and  by  gra 
cious,  Linda!  scattered,  but  nevertheless  still  there,  and  visi 
ble,  I  saw  a  sprinkling  of  gray  hairs  just  in  front  of  and  over 
his  ears.  It  caught  me  unawares,  and  before  I  knew  what  I 
was  doing,  before  the  professor  and  the  assembled  classroom 
I  blurted  it  out:  'Say,  Oka  Sayye,  how  old  are  you?'  If 
the  Jap  had  had  any  way  of  killing  me,  I  believe  he  would 
have  done  it.  There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  was 
what  I  would  call  deadly.  It  was  only  a  flash  and  then, 
very  courteously,  putting  me  in  the  wrong,  of  course,  he 
remarked  that  he  was  'almost  ninekleen';  and  it  struck 
me  from  his  look  and  the  way  he  said  it  that  it  was  a  lie. 
If  he  truly  was  the  average  age  of  the  rest  of  the  class 
there  was  nothing  for  him  to  be  angry  about.  Then  I 
did  take  a  deliberate  survey.  From  the  settled  solidity 
of  his  frame  and  the  shape  of  his  hands  and  the  skin  of 
his  face  and  the  set  of  his  eyes  in  his  head,  I  couldn't 
see  that  much  youth.  I'll  bet  he's  thirty  if  he's  a  day, 
and  I  shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  he  has  graduated  at 
the  most  worth-while  university  in  Japan,  before  he  ever 
came  to  this  country  to  get  his  English  for  nothing." 

Linda  was  watching  a  sea  swallow  now,  and  slowly  her 
lean  fingers  were  gathering  handfuls  of  sand  and  sifting 


266  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

them  into  a  little  pyramid  she  was  heaping  beside  her. 
Again  almost  under  her  breath  she  spoke. 

"Donald,  do  you  really  believe  that?"  she  asked.  "Is 
it  possible  that  mature  Jap  men  are  coming  here  and  enter 
ing  our  schools  and  availing  themselves  of  the  benefits  that 
the  taxpayers  of  California  provide  for  their  children?" 

"Didn't  you  know  it?"  asked  Donald.  "I  hadn't 
thought  of  it  in  connection  with  Oka  Sayye,  but  I  do  know 
cases  where  mature  Japs  have  been  in  grade  schools  with 
children  under  ten." 

"Oh,  Donald!"  exclaimed  Linda.  "If  California  is 
permitting  that  or  ever  has  permitted  it,  we're  too  easy. 
We  deserve  to  become  their  prey  if  we  are  so  careless." 

"Why,  I  know  it's  true,"  said  Donald.  "I  have  been 
in  the  same  classes  with  men  more  than  old  enough  to  be 
my  father." 

"I  never  was,"  said  Linda,  industriously  sifting  sand. 
"I  have  been  in  classes  with  Japs  ever  since  I  have  been 
at  school,  but  it  was  with  girls  and  boys  of  our  gardeners 
and  fruit  dealers  and  curio-shop  people,  and  they  were 
always  of  my  age  and  entitled  to  be  in  school,  since  our 
system  includes  the  education  of  anybody  who  happens 
to  be  in  California  and  wants  to  go  to  school." 

"Did  my  being  late  spoil  any  particular  plan  you  had 
made,  Linda?" 

"Yes,"  said  Linda,  "it  did." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry!"  cried  Donald.  "I  certainly  shall 
try  to  see  that  it  doesn't  occur  again.  Could  we  do  it 
next  Saturday  ?" 


THE  CAP  SHEAF  267 

"I  am  hoping  so,"  said  Linda. 

"I  told  Dad,"  said  Donald,  "where  I  wanted  to  go  and 
what  I  wanted  to  do,  and  he  was  awfully  sorry  but  he  said 
it  was  business  and  it  would  take  only  a  few  minutes  and 
he  thought  I  could  do  it  and  be  on  time.  If  he  had  known 
I  would  be  detained  I  don't  believe  he  wouid  have  asked 
it  of  me.  He's  a  grand  old  pater,  Linda." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Linda.  "There's  not  much  you 
can  tell  me  about  paters  of  the  grand  sort,  the  real,  true 
flesh-and-blood,  big-hearted,  human-being  fathers,  who 
will  take  you  to  the  fields  and  the  woods  and  take  the  time 
to  teach  you  what  God  made  and  how  He  made  it  and  why 
He  made  it  and  what  we  can  do  with  it,  and  of  the  fellow 
ship  and  brotherhood  we  can  get  from  Nature  by  being 
real  kin.  The  one  thing  that  I  have  had  that  was  the 
biggest  thing  in  all  this  world  was  one  of  these  real  fathers." 

Donald  watched  as  she  raised  the  pyramid  higher  and 
higher. 

"Did  you  tell  your  father  whom  you  were  to  go  with?" 
she  asked.  • 

"Sure  I  did,"  said  Donald.  "Told  the  whole  family  at 
dinner  last  night.  Told  'em  about  all  the  things  I  was 
learning,  from  where  to  get  soap  off  the  bushes  to  the 
best  spot  for  material  for  wooden  legs  or  instantaneous 
relief  for  snake  bite." 

"What  did  they  say?"  Linda  inquired  laughingly. 

"Unanimously  in  favour  of  continuing  the  course,"  he 
said.  "I  had  already  told  Father  about  you  when  I 
asked  him  for  books  and  any  help  that  he  could  give  me' 


268  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

with  Oka  Sayye.  Since  I  had  mentioned  you  last  night 
he  told  Mother  and  Louise  about  that,  and  they  told  me 
to  bring  you  to  the  house  some  time.  All  of  them  are 
crazy  to  know  you.  Mother  says  she  is  just  wild  to 
know  whether  a  girl  who  wears  boots  and  breeches  and 
who  knows  canyons  and  the  desert  and  the  mountains 
as  you  do  can  be  a  feminine  and  lovable  person." 

"If  I  told  her  how  many  friends  I  have,  she  could  have 
speedily  decided  whether  I  am  lovable  or  not,"  said  Linda; 
"but  I  would  make  an  effort  to  convince  her  that  I  am 
strictly  feminine." 

"You  would  convince  her  of  that  without  making  the 
slightest  effort.  You're  infinitely  more  feminine  than  any 
other  girl  I  have  ever  known." 

"How  do  you  figure  that?"  asked  Linda. 

"Well,"  said  Donald,  "it's  a  queer  thing  about  you, 
Linda.  I  take  any  liberty  I  pretty  nearly  please  with 
most  of  the  girls  I  have  been  associated  with.  I  tie  their 
shoes  and  pull  their  hair — down  if  I  want  to — and  hand 
them  round  'most  any  way  the  notion  takes  me,  and 
they  just  laugh  and  take  the  same  liberties  with  me, 
which  proves  that  I  am  pretty  much  a  girl  with  them  or 
they  are  pretty  much  boys  with  me.  But  it  wouldn't 
occur  to  me  to  touch  your  hair  or  your  shoe  lace  or  the  tips 
of  your  fingers;  which  proves  that  you're  more  feminine 
than  any  other  girl  I  know,  because  if  you  were  not  I 
would  be  treating  you  more  like  another  boy.  I  thought, 
the  first  day  we  were  together,  that  you  were  like  a  boy, 
and  I  said  so,  and  I  thought  it  because  you  did  not  tease 


THE  CAP  SHEAF  269 

me  and  flirt  with  me,  but  since  I  have  come  to  know  you 
better,  you're  less  like  a  boy  than  any  other  girl  I  evei 
have  known." 

"Don't  get  psychological,  Donald,"  said  Linda.  "Go  on 
with  the  Jap.  I  haven't  got  an  answer  yet  to  what  I 
really  want  to  know.  Have  you  made  the  least  progress 
this  week?  Can  you  beat  him?" 

Donald  hesitated,  studying  over  the  answer. 

"  Beat  him  at  that  trig  proposition  the  other  day,"  he 
said.  "Got  an  open  commendation  before  the  class. 
There's  not  a  professor  in  any  of  my  classes  who  isn't 
'hep'  to  what  I'm  after  by  this  time,  and  if  I  would  cajole 
them  a  little  they  would  naturally  be  on  my  side,  es 
pecially  if  their  attention  were  called  to  that  incident  of 
yesterday;  but  you  said  I  have  to  beat  him  with  my 
brains,  by  doing  better  work  than  he  does;  so  about  the 
biggest  thing  I  can  honestly  tell  you  is  that  I  have  held 
my  own.  I  have  only  been  ahead  of  him  once  this  week, 
but  I  haven't  failed  in  anything  that  he  has  accomplished. 
I  have  been  able  to  put  some  additional  touches  to  some 
work  that  he  has  done  for  which  he  used  to  be  marked  A 
which  means  your  One  Hundred.  Double  A  which  means 
your  plus  I  made  in  one  instance.  And  you  needn't 
think  that  Oka  Sayye  does  not  realize  what  I  am  up  to 
as  well  as  any  of  the  rest  of  the  class,  and  you  needn't 
think  that  he  is  not  going  to  give  me  a  run  for  my  brain. 
All  I've  got  will  be  needed  before  we  finish  this  term." 

"I  see,"  said  Linda,  slowly  nodding  her  head. 

"I  wish,"  said  Donald,  "that  we  had  started  this  thing 


270  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

two  years  ago,  or  better  still,  four.  But  of  course  you 
were  not  in  the  High  School  four  years  ago  and  there 
wasn't  a  girl  in  my  class  or  among  my  friends  who  cared 
whether  I  beat  the  Jap  or  not.  They  greatly  preferred 
that  I  take  them  motoring  or  to  a  dance  or  a  picture 
show  or  a  beach  party.  You're  the  only  one  except 
Mother  and  Louise  who  ever  inspired  me  to  get  down  to 
business." 

Linda  laid  her  palm  on  the  top  of  the  sand  heap  and 
pressed  it  flat.  She  looked  at  Donald  with  laughing  eyes. 

"Symbolical,"  she  announced.  "That  sand  was  the 
Jap."  She  stretched  her  hand  toward  him.  "That  was 
you.  Did  you  see  yourself  squash  him?" 

Donald's  laugh  was  grim. 

u  Yes,  I  saw,"  he  said.     "I  wish  it  were  as  easy  as  that." 

"That  was  not  easy,"  said  Linda;  "make  a  mental 
computation  of  all  the  seconds  that  it  took  me  to  erect  that 
pyramid  and  all  the  millions  of  grains  of  sand  I  had  to 
gather." 

Donald  was  deeply  thoughtful,  yet  a  half  smile  was 
playing  round  his  lips. 

"Of  all  the  queer  girls  I  ever  knew,  you're  the  cap 
sheaf,  Linda,"  he  said. 

Linda  rose  slowly,  shook  the  sand  from  her  breeches  and 
stretched  out  her  hand. 

"Let's  hotfoot  it  down  to  the  African  village  and  see 
what  the  movies  are  doing  that  is  interesting  to-day,"  she 
proposed. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SHIFTING  THE  RESPONSIBILITY 

ON  HER  pillow  that  night  before  dropping  to  almost 
instantaneous  sleep  Linda  reflected  that  if  you 
could  not  ride  the  King's  Highway,  racing  the 
sands  of  Santa  Monica  was  a  very  excellent  substitute. 
It  had  been  a  wonderful  day  after  all.     When  she  had 
left  Donald  at  the  Lilac- Valley  end  of  the  car  line  he  had 
held  her  hand  tight  an  instant  and  looked  into  her  face 
with  the  most  engaging  of  clear,  boyish  smiles. 

"Linda,  isn't  our  friendship  the  nicest  thing  that  ever 
happened  to  us?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,"  answered  Linda  promptly,  "quite  the  nicest. 
Make  your  plans  for  all  day  long  next  Saturday." 

"I'll  be  here  before  the  birds  are  awake,"  promised 
Donald. 

At  the  close  of  Monday's  sessions,  going  down  the 
broad  walk  from  the  High  School,  Donald  overtook. 
Linda  and  in  a  breathless  whisper  he  said:  "What  do* 
you  think?  I  came  near  Oka  Sayye  again  this  morn 
ing  in  trig,  and  his  hair  was  as  black  as  jet,  dyed  to  a 
midnight,  charcoal  finish,  and  I  am  not  right  sure  that  he 
had  not  borrowed  some  girl's  lip  stick  and  rouge  pot 
for  the  benefit  of  his  lips  and  cheeks.  Positively  he's. 

271 


272  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

hectically  youthful  to-day.  What  do  you  know  about 
that?" 

Then  he  hurried  on  to  overtake  the  crowd  of  boys  he 
had  left.  Linda's  heart  was  racing  in  her  breast. 

Turning,  she  re-entered  the  school  building,  and  taking 
a  telephone  directory  she  hunted  an  address,  and  then, 
instead  of  going  to  the  car  line  that  took  her  to  Lilac 
Valley,  she  went  to  the  address  she  had  looked  up.  With 
a  pencil  she  wrote  a  few  lines  on  a  bit  of  scratch  paper  in 
one  of  her  books.  That  note  opened  a  door  and  admitted 
her  to  the  presence  of  a  tall,  lean,  gray-haired  man  with 
quick,  blue-gray  eyes  and  lips  that  seemed  capable  of 
being  either  grave  or  gay  on  short  notice.  With  that 
perfect  ease  which  Linda  had  acquired  through  the 
young  days  of  her  life  in  meeting  friends  of  her  father, 
she  went  to  the  table  beside  which  this  man  was  standing 
and  stretched  out  her  hand. 

"Judge  Whiting?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Judge. 

"I  am  Linda  Strong,  the  younger  daughter  of  Alexander 
Strong.  I  think  you  knew  my  father." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Judge,  "I  knew  him  very  well  indeed, 
and  I  have  some  small  acquaintance  with  his  daughter 
through  very  interesting  reports  that  my  son  brings 

home." 

"Yes,  it  is  about  Donald  that  I  came  to  see  you,"  said 

Linda. 

If  she  had  been  watching  as  her  father  would  have 
watched,  Linda  would  have  seen  the  slight  uplift  of  the 


SHIFTING  THE  RESPONSIBILITY         273 

Judge's  figure,  the  tensing  of  his  muscles,  the  narrowing  of 
his  eyes  in  the  swift,  speculative  look  he  passed  over  her 
from  the  crown  of  her  bare,  roughened  black  head  down 
the  gold-brown  of  her  dress  to  her  slender,  well-shod  feet. 
The  last  part  of  that  glance  Linda  caught.  She  slightly 
lifted  one  of  the  feet  under  inspection,  thrust  it  forward 
and  looked  at  the  Judge  with  a  gay  challenge  in  her  dark 
eyes. 

"Are  you  interested  in  them  too?"  she  asked. 

The  Judge  was  embarrassed.  A  flush  crept  into  his 
cheeks.  He  was  supposed  to  be  master  of  any  emergency 
that  might  arise,  but  one  had  arisen  in  connection  with  a 
slip  of  a  schoolgirl  that  left  him  wordless. 

"It  is  very  probable,"  said  Linda,  "that  if  my  shoes 
had  been  like  most  other  girls'  shoes  I  wouldn't  be  here 
to-day.  I  was  in  the  same  schoolroom  with  your  son 
for  three  years,  and  he  never  saw  me  or  spoke  to  me  until 
one  day  he  stopped  me  to  inquire  why  I  wore  the  kind 
of  shoes  I  did.  He  said  he  had  a  battle  to  wage  with 
me  because  I  tried  to  be  a  law  to  myself,  and  he  wanted 
to  know  why  I  wasn't  like  other  girls.  And  I  told  him  I 
had  a  crow  to  pick  with  him  because  he  had  the  kind  of 
brain  that  would  be  content  to  let  a  Jap  beat  him  in  his 
own  school,  in  his  own  language  and  in  his  own  country;  so 
we  made  an  engagement  to  fight  to  a  finish,  and  it  ended 
by  his  becoming  the  only  boy  friend  I  have  and  the  nicest 
boy  friend  a  girl  ever  had,  I  am  very  sure.  That's  why 
I'm  here." 

Linda  lifted  her  eyes  and  Judge  Whiting  looked  into 


274  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

them  till  he  saw  the  same  gold  lights  in  their  depths  that 
Peter  Morrison  had  seen.  He  came  around  the  table  and 
placed  a  big  leather  chair  for  Linda.  Then  he  went  back 
and  resumed  his  own. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  Judge  in  his  most  engaging 
manner.  "I  gather  from  what  Donald  has  told  me  that 
you  have  a  reason  for  being  here,  and  I  want  you  to 
understand  that  I  am  intensely  interested  in  anything 
you  have  to  say  to  me.  Now  tell  my  why  you  came." 

"I  came,"  said  Linda,  "because  I  started  something  and 
am  afraid  of  the  possible  result.  I  think  very  likely  if,  in 
retaliation  for  what  Donald  said  to  me  about  my  hair  and 
my  shoes,  I  had  not  twitted  him  about  the  use  he  was 
making  of  his  brain  and  done  everything  in  my  power  to 
drive  him  into  competition  with  Oka  Sayye  in  the  hope 
that  a  white  man  would  graduate  with  the  highest  honours, 
he  would  not  have  gone  into  this  competition,  which  I  am 
now  certain  has  antagonized  Oka  Sayye." 

Linda  folded  her  slim  hands  on  the  table  and  leaned 
forward. 

"Judge  Whiting,"  she  said  earnestly,  "I  know  very 
little  about  men.  The  most  I  know  was  what  I  learned 
about  my  father  and  the  men  with  whom  he  occasionally 
hunted  and  fished.  They  were  all  such  fine  men  that 
I  must  have  grown  up  thinking  that  every  man  was  very 
like  them,  but  one  day  I  came  in  direct  contact  with  the 
Jap  that  Donald  is  trying  to  beat,  and  the  thing  I  saw  in 
his  face  put  fear  into  my  heart  and  it  has  been  there  ever 
since.  I  have  almost  an  unreasoning  fear  of  that  Jap,  not 


SHIFTING  THE  RESPONSIBILITY         275 

because  he  has  said  anything  or  done  anything.  It's 
just  instinctive.  I  may  be  wholly  wrong  in  having  come 
to  you  and  in  taking  up  your  time,  but  there  are  two  things 
I  wanted  to  tell  you.  I  could  have  told  Donald,  but  if  I 
did  and  his  mind  went  off  at  a  tangent  thinking  of  these 
things  he  wouldn't  be  nearly  so  likely  to  be  in  condition  to 
give  his  best  thought  to  his  studies.  If  I  really  made  him 
see  what  I  think  I  have  seen,  and  fear  what  I  know  I 
fear,  he  might  fail  where  I  would  give  almost  anything  to- 
see  him  succeed;  so  I  thought  I  would  come  to  you  and  tell 
you  about  it  and  ask  you  please  to  think  it  over,  and  to 
take  extra  care  of  him,  because  I  really  believe  that  he 
may  be  in  danger;  and  if  he  is  I  never  shall  be  able  to  rid 
myself  of  a  sense  of  responsibility." 

"I  see,"  said  Judge  Whiting.  "Now  tell  me,  just  as 
explicitly  as  you  have  told  me  this,  exactly  what  it  is  that 
you  fear." 

"Last  Saturday,"  said  Linda,  "Donald  told  me  that 
while  standing  at  the  board  beside  Oka  Sayye,  demonstrat 
ing  a  theorem,  he  noticed  that  there  were  gray  hairs  above" 
the  Jap's  ears,  and  he  bluntly  asked  him,  before  the 
professor  and  the  class,  how  old  he  was.  In  telling  me,  he 
said  he  had  the  feeling  that  if  the  Jap  could  have  done  so 
in  that  instant,  he  would  have  killed  him.  He  said  he  was 
nineteen,  but  Donald  says  from  the  matured  lines  of  his 
body,  from  his  hands  and  his  face  and  his  hair,  he  is  certain 
that  he  is  thirty  or  more,  and  he  thinks  it  very  probable 
that  he  may  have  graduated  at  home  before  he  came  here 
to  get  his  English  for  nothing  from  our  public  schools.  I 


276  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

never  before  had  the  fact  called  to  my  attention  that  this 
was  being  done,  but  Donald  told  me  that  he  had  been  in 
classes  with  matured  men  when  he  was  less  than  ten 
years  of  age.  That  is  not  fair,  Judge  Whiting;  it  is  not 
right.  There  should  be  an  age  specified  above  which 
people  may  not  be  allowed  to  attend  public  school." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you/'  said  the  Judge.  "That  has 
been  done  in  the  grades,  but  there  is  nothing  fair  in 
bringing  a  boy  under  twenty  in  competition  with  a  man 
graduated  from  the  institutions  of  another  country,  even 
in  the  high  schools.  If  this  be  the  case " 

"You  can  be  certain  that  it  is/'  said  Linda,  "be 
cause  Donald  whispered  to  me  as  he  passed  me  half  an 
hour  ago,  coming  from  the  school  building,  that  to-day 
Oka  Sayye's  hair  is  a  uniform,  shining  black,  and  he  also 
thought  that  he  had  used  a  lip  stick  and  rouge  in  an  effort 
at  rejuvenation.  Do  you  think,  from  your  knowledge  of 
Donald,  that  he  would  imagine  that?" 

"No,"  said  Judge  Whiting,  "I  don't  think  such  a 
thing  would  occur  to  him  unless  he  saw  it." 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  Linda.  "  From  the  short  acquaint 
ance  I  have  with  him  I  should  not  call  him  at  all  imagina 
tive,  but  he  is  extremely  quick  and  wonderfully  retentive. 
You  have  to  show  him  but  once  from  which  cactus  he  can 
get  Victrola  needles  and  fishing  hooks,  or  where  to  find 
material  for  wooden  legs." 

The  Judge  laughed.  "Doesn't  prove  much,"  he  said. 
"You  wouldn't  have  to  show  me  that  more  than  once 
either.  If  any  one  were  giving  me  an  intensive  course  on 


SHIFTING  THE  RESPONSIBILITY         277 

such  interesting  subjects,  I  would  guarantee  to  remember, 
even  at  my  age." 

Linda  nodded  in  acquiescence.  "Then  you  can  regard 
it  as  quite  certain,"  she  said,  "that  Oka  Sayye  is  making 
up  in  an  effort  to  appear  younger  than  he  is,  which  means 
that  he  doesn't  want  his  right  questioned  to  be  in  our 
schools,  to  absorb  the  things  that  we  are  taught,  to  learn 
our  language,  our  government,  our  institutions,  our  ideals, 
our  approximate  strength  and  our  only-too-apparent, 
weakness." 

The  Judge  leaned  forward  and  waited  attentively. 

"The  other  matter,"  said  Linda,  "was  relative  to 
Saturday.  There  may  not  be  a  thing  in  it,  but  sometimes 
a  woman's  intuition  proves  truer  than  what  a  man 
thinks  he  sees  and  knows.  I  haven't  seen  a  thing,  and  I 
don't  know  a  thing,  but  I  don't  believe  your  gardener  was 
sick  last  week.  I  believe  he  had  a  dirty  job  he  wanted 
done  and  preferred  to  save  his  position  and  avoid  risks  by 
getting  some  other  Jap  who  had  no  family  and  no  inter 
ests  here,  to  do  it  for  him.  I  don't  believe  that  your  car, 
having  run  all  right  Friday  night,  was  shot  to  pieces  Sat 
urday  morning  so  that  Donald  went  smash  with  it  in  a 
manner  that  might  very  easily  have  killed  him,  or  sent 
him  to  the  hospital  for  months,  while  Oka  Sayye  carried 
off  the  honours  without  competition.  J  I  want  to  ask  you 
to  find  out  whether  your  regular  gardener  truly  was  ill, 
whether  he  has  a  family  and  interests  to  protect  here,  or 
whether  he  is  a  man  who  could  disappear  in  a  night  as  Japs 
who  have  leased  land  and  have  families  cannot.  I  want 


278  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

to  know  about  the  man  who  took  your  gardener's  place, 
and  I  want  the  man  who  is  repairing  your  car  interviewed 
very  carefully  as  to  what  he  found  the  trouble  with  it." 

Linda  paused.  Judge  Whiting  sat  in  deep  thought, 
then  he  looked  at  Linda. 

"I  see,"  he  said  at  last.  "Thank  you  very  much  for 
coming  to  me.  All  these  things  and  anything  that  de 
velops  from  them  shall  be  handled  carefully.  Of  course 
you  know  that  Donald  is  my  only  son  and  you  can  realize 
what  he  is  to  me  and  to  his  mother  and  sister." 

"It  is  because  I  do  realize  that,"  said  Linda,  "that  I  am 
here.  I  appreciate  his  friendship,  but  it  is  not  for  my  own 
interests  that  I  am  asking  to  have  him  taken  care  of  while 
he  wages  his  mental  war  with  this  Jap.  I  want  Donald 
to  have  the  victory,  but  I  want  it  to  be  a  victory  that  will 
be  an  inspiration  to  any  boy  of  white  blood  among  any  of 
our  allies  or  among  peoples  who  should  be  our  allies. 
There's  a  showdown  coming  between  the  white  race  and 
a  mighty  aggregation  of  coloured  peoples  one  of  these 
days,  and  if  the  white  man  doesn't  realize  pretty  soon  that 
his  supremacy  is  not  only  going  to  be  contested  but  may 
be  lost,  it  just  simply  will  be  lost;  that  is  all  there  is  to  it." 

The  Judge  was  studying  deeply  now.  Finally  he  said: 
"Young  lady,  I  greatly  appreciate  your  coming  to  me. 
There  may  be  nothing  in  what  you  fear.  It  might  be  a 
matter  of  national  importance.  In  any  event,  it  shows 
that  your  heart  is  in  the  right  place.  May  Mrs.  Whiting 
and  I  pay  you  a  visit  some  day  soon  in  your  home?" 

"Of  course,'*'  said  Linda  simply.     "I  told  Donald  to 


SHIFTING  THE  RESPONSIBILITY         279 

bring  his  mother  the  first  time  he  came,  but  he  said  he  did 
not  need  to  be  chaperoned  when  he  came  to  see  me, 
because  my  father's  name  was  a  guarantee  to  his  mother 
that  my  home  would  be  a  proper  place  for  him  to  visit." 

"I  wonder  how  many  of  his  other  girl  friends  invited 
him  to  bring  his  mother  to  see  them,"  said  the  Judge. 

"Oh,  he  probably  grew  up  with  the  other  girls  and  was 
acquainted  with  them  from  tiny  things,"  said  Linda. 

"Very  likely,"  conceded  the  Judge.  "I  think,  after 
all,  I  would  rather  have  an  invitation  to  make  one  of 
those  trips  with  you  to  the  desert  or  the  mountains. 
Is  there  anything  else  as  interesting  as  fish  hooks  and 
Victrola  needles  and  wooden  legs  to  be  learned?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Linda,  leaning  farther  forward,  a  lovely 
colour  sweeping  up  into  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  a-shine.  She 
had  missed  the  fact  that  the  Judge  was  jesting.  She  had 
thought  him  in  sober,  scientific  earnest. 

"It's  an  awfully  nice  thing  if  you  dig  a  plant  or  soil 
your  hands  in  hunting,  or  anything  like  that,  to  know 
that  there  are  four  or  five  different  kinds  of  vegetable 
soap  where  you  can  easily  reach  them,  if  you  know  them. 
If  you  lose  your  way  or  have  a  long  tramp,  it's  good  to 
know  which  plants  will  give  you  drink  and  where  they 
are.  And  if  you're  short  of  implements,  you  might  at 
any  time  need  a  mescal  stick,  or  an  arrow  shaft  or  an 
arrow,  even.  If  Donald  were  lost  now,  he  could  keep 
alive  for  days,  because  he  would  know  what  wood  would 
make  him  a  bow  and  how  he  could  take  amole  fibre 
and  braid  a  bow  string  and  where  he  could  make 


28o  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

arrows  and  arrow  points  so  that  he  could  shoot  game 
for  food.  I've  taught  him  to  make  a  number  of  snares, 
and  he  knows  where  to  find  and  how  to  cook  his  greens 
and  potatoes  and  onions  and  where  to  find  his  pickles 
and  how  to  make  lemonade  and  tea,  and  what  to  use  for 
snake  bite.  It's  been  such  fun,  Judge  Whiting,  and  he  has 
been  so  interested." 

"Yes,  I  should  think  he  would  be,"  said  the  Judge.  "I 
am  interested  myself.  If  you  would  take  an  old  boy 
like  me  on  a  few  of  those  trips,  I  would  be  immensely 
pleased." 

"You'd  like  brigand  beefsteak,"  suggested  Linda,  "and 
you'd  like  cress  salad,  and  I  am  sure  you'd  like  creamed 
yucca." 

"Hm,"  said  the  Judge,  "Sounds  to  me  like  Jane 
Meredith." 

Linda  suddenly  sat  straight.  A  dazed  expression  crossed 
her  face.  Presently  she  recovered. 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me,"  she  said,  "what  a  great 
criminal  judge  knows  about  Jane  Meredith?" 

"Why,  I  hear  my  wife  and  daughter  talking  about 
her,"  said  the  Judge. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Linda,  "if  a  judge  hears  so  many 
secrets  that  he  forgets  what  a  secret  is  and  couldn't 
possibly  keep  one  to  save  his  life." 

"On  the  other  hand,"  said  Judge  Whiting,  "a  judge 
hears  so  many  secrets  that  he  learns  to  be  a  very  secretive 
person  himself,  and  if  a  young  lady  just  your  size  and  so 
like  you  in  every  way  as  to  be  you,  told  me  anything  and 


SHIFTING  THE  RESPONSIBILITY         281 

told  me  that  it  was  a  secret,  I  would  guarantee  to  carry 
it  with  me  to  my  grave,  if  I  said  I  would." 

One  of  Linda's  special  laughs  floated  out  of  the  windows. 
Her  right  hand  slipped  across  the  table  toward  the  Judge. 

"Cross  your  heart  and  body?"  she  challenged. 

The  Judge  took  the  hand  she  offered  in  both  of  his  own. 

"On  my  soul/'  he  said,  "I  swear  it." 

"All  right,"  bubbled  Linda.  "Judge  Whiting,  allow 
me  to  present  to  you  Jane  Meredith,  the  author  and 
originator  of  the  Aboriginal  Cookery  articles  now  running 
in  Everybody's  Home" 

Linda  stood  up  as  she  made  the  presentation  and  the 
Judge  arose  with  her.  When  she  bowed  her  dark  head 
before  him  the  Judge  bowed  equally  as  low,  then  he  took 
the  hand  he  held  and  pressed  it  against  his  lips. 

"I  am  not  surprised,"  he  said.  "I  am  honoured, 
deeply  honoured,  and  I  am  delighted.  For  a  High- 
School  girl  that  is  a  splendid  achievement." 

"But  you  realize,  of  course,"  said  Linda,  "that  it  is 
vicarious.  I  really  haven't  done  anything.  I  am  just 
passing  on  to  the  world  what  Alexander  Strong  found  it 
interesting  to  teach  his  daughter,  because  he  hadn't  a 


son." 


"I  certainly  am  -fortunate  that  my  son  is  getting  the 
benefit  of  this,"  said  Judge  Whiting  earnestly.  "There 
are  girls  who  make  my  old-fashioned  soul  shudder,  but 
I  shall  rest  in  great  comfort  whenever  I  know  that  my  boy 
is  with  you." 

"Sure!"  laughed  Linda.     "I'm  not  vamping  him.     I 


282  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

don't  know  the  first  principles.  We're  not  doing  a  thing 
worse  than  sucking  'hunters'  rock  leek'  or  roasting  Indian 
potatoes  or  fishing  for  trout  with  cactus  spines.  I  have 
had  such  a  lovely  time  I  don't  believe  that  I'll  apologize 
for  coming.  But  you  won't  waste  a  minute  in  making 
sure  about  Oka  Sayye?" 

"I  won't  waste  a  minute,"  said  the  Judge. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  END  OF  MARIAN'S  CONTEST 

COMING  from  school  a  few  days  later  on  an  even 
ing  when  she  had  been  detained,  Linda  found  a 
radiant  Katy  awaiting  her. 

"What's  up,  old  dear?"  cried  Linda.  "You  seem 
positively  illumined." 

"So  be,"  said  Katy.  "It's  a  good  time  I'm  havin'.  In 
the  first  place  the  pravious  boss  of  this  place  ain't  nowise 
so  bossy  as  she  used  to  be,  an'  livin'  with  her  is  a  dale 
aisier.  An'  then,  when  Miss  Eileen  is  around  these  days, 
she  is  beginning  to  see  things,  and  she  is  just  black  with 
jealousy  of  ye.  Something  funny  happened  here  the 
afternoon,  an'  she  was  home  for  once  an'  got  the  full 
benefit  of  it.  I  was  swapin'  the  aist  walk,  but  I  know  she 
was  inside  the  window  an'  I  know  she  heard.  First, 
comes  a  great  big  loaded  automobile  drivin'  .up,  and 
stopped  in  front  with  a  flourish,  an'  out  hops  as  nice  an' 
nate  a  lookin'  lad  as  ever  you  clapped  your  eyes  on,  an'  up 
he  comes  to  me  an'  off  goes  his  hat  with  a  swape,  an'  he 
hands  me  that  bundle  an'  he  says:  'Here's  something 
Miss  Linda  is  wantin'  bad  for  her  wild  garden." 

Katy  handed  Linda  a  bundle  of  newspaper,  inside 
which,  wrapped  in  a  man's  handkerchief,  she  found 

283 


284  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

several  plants,  carefully  lifted,  the  roots  properly  balled, 
the  heads  erect,"  crisp,  although  in  full  flower. 

"Oh,  Katy! "\cried. Linda.     "Look,  it's  Gallito,  'little 


rooster'!" 


"Now  ain't  them  jist  yellow  violets?"  asked  Katy 
dubiously. 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "they  are  not.  They  are  quite 
a  bit  rarer.  They  are  really  a  wild  pansy.  Bring  water, 
Katy,  and  help  me." 

"  But  I've  something  else  for  ye,"  said  Katy. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  have,"  answered  Linda.  "I 
am  just  compelled  to  park  these  little  roosters  at  once." 

"What  makes  ye  call  them  that  ungodly  name?"  asked 
Katy. 

"Nothing  ungodly  about  it,"  answered  Linda.  "It's 
funny.  Gallito  is  the  Spanish  name  for  these  violets,  and 
it  means  'little  rooster." 

Linda  set  the  violets  as  carefully  as  they  had  been 
lifted  and  rinsed  her  hands  at  the  hydrant. 

"Now  bring  on  the  remainder  of  the  exhibit,"  she 
ordered. 

"It's  there  on  the  top  of  the  rock  pile,  which  you  notice 
has  incrased  since  ye  last  saw  it." 

"  So  it  has ! "  said  Linda.  "  So  it  has !  And  beautifully 
coloured  specimens  those  are  too.  My  fern  bed  will  lift 
up  its  voice  and  rejoice  in  them.  And  rocks  mean  Henry 
Anderson.  The  box  I  do  not  understand." 

Linda  picked  it  up,  untied  the  string,  and  slipped  off  the 
wrapping.  Katy  stared  in  wide-mouthed  amazement. 


THE  END  OF  MARIAN'S  CONTEST       285 

"I  was  just  tickled  over  that  because  Miss  Eileen  saw  a 
good-looking  and  capable  young  man  leave  a  second 
package,  right  on  the  heels  of  young  Whiting,"  she  said. 
"Whatever  have  ye  got,  lambie?  What  does  that 
mean?" 

Linda  held  up  a  beautiful  box  of  glass,  inside  of  which 
could  be  seen  swarming  specimens  of  every  bug,  beetle, 
insect,  and  worm  that  Henry  Anderson  had  been  able  to 
collect  in  Heaven  only  knew  what  hours  of  search. 
Linda  opened  the  box.  The  winged  creatures  flew,  the 
beetles  tumbled,  the  worms  went  over  the  top.  She  set  it 
on  the  ground  and  laughed  to  exhaustion.  Her  eyes 
were  wet  as  she  looked  up  at  Katy. 

"That  first  night  Henry  Anderson  and  Peter  Morrison 
were  here  to  dinner,  Katy,"  she  said,  "Anderson  made  a 
joke  about  being  my  bug-catcher  when  I  built  my  home 
nest,  and  several  times  since  he  has  tried  to  be  silly 
about  it,  but  the  last  time  I  told  him  it  was  foolishness  to 
which  I  would  listen  no  more,  so  instead  of  talking,  he  has 
taken  this  way  of  telling  me  that  he  is  fairly  expert  as  a 
bug-catcher.  Really,  it  is  awfully  funny,  Katy." 

Katy  was  sober.  She  showed  no  appreciation  of  the 
fun. 

"Ye  know,  lamb'ie,"  she  said,  her  hands  on  her  hips, 
her  elbows  wide-spread,  her  jaws  argumentative,  "I've 
done  some  blarneying  with  that  lad,  an*  I've  fed  him  some, 
because  he  was  doin'  things  that  would  help  an'  please  ye, 
but  now  I'm  tellin'  ye,  just  like  I'll  be  tellin'  ye  till  I  die,  I 
ain't  strong  for  him.  If  ever  the  day  comes  when  ye  ask 


286  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

me  to  take  on  that  Whiting  kid  for  me  boss,  I'll  bow  my 
head  an'  I'll  fly  at  his  bidding,  because  he  is  real,  he's 
goin'  to  come  out  a  man  lots  like  your  pa,  or  hisn.  An' 
if  ever  the  day  comes  when  ye  will  be  telling  me  ye  want 
me  to  sarve  Pater  Morrison,  I'll  well  nigh  get  on  my 
knees  to  him.  I  think  he'd  be  the  closest  we'd  ever  come 
to  gettin'  the  master  back.  But  I  couldn't  say  I'd  ever 
take  to  Anderson.  They's  something  about  him,  I  can't 
just  say  what,  but  he  puts  me  back  up  amazin'." 

"Don't  worry,  ancient  custodian  of  the  family,"  said 
Linda.  "That  same  something  in  Henry  Anderson  that 
antagonizes  you,  affects  me  in  even  stronger  degree. 
You  must  not  get  the  foolish  notion  that  any  man  has 
a  speculative  eye  on  me,  because  it  is  not  true.  Donald 
Whiting  is  only  a  boy  friend,  treating  me  as  a  brother 
would,  and  Peter  Morrison  is  much  too  sophisticated  and 
mature  to  pay  any  serious  attention  to  a  girl  with  a  year 
more  high  school  before  her.  I  want  to  be  decent  to 
Henry  Anderson,  because  he  is  Peter's  architect,  and  I'm 
deeply  interested  in  Peter's  house  and  the  lady  who  will 
live  in  it.  Sometimes  I  hope  it  will  be  Donald's  sister, 
Mary  Louise.  Anyway,  I  am  going  to  get  acquainted 
with  her  and  make  it  my  business  to  see  that  she  and 
Peter  get  their  chance  to  know  each  other  well.  My  job 
for  Peter  is  to  help  run  his  brook  at  the  proper  angle, 
build  his  bridge,  engineer  his  road,  and  plant  his  grounds; 
so  don't  be  dreaming  any  foolish  dreams,  Katy." 

Katy  folded  her  arms,  tilted  her  chin  at  an  unusually 
aspiring  angle,  and  deliberately  sniffed. 


THE  END  OF  MARIAN'S  CONTEST       287 

"Don't  ye  be  lettin'  yourself  belave  your  own  foolish 
ness,"  she  said.  "I  ain't  done  with  me  exhibit  yet.  On 
the  hall  table  ye  will  find  a  package  from  the  Pater 
Morrison  man  that  Miss  Eileen  had  the  joy  of  takin'  in 
and  layin'  aside  for  ye,  an  atop  of  it  rists  a  big  letter  that 
I'm  thinkin'  might  mean  Miss  Marian." 

"Oh,"  cried  Linda.  "Why  are  you  wasting  all  this 
time?  If  there  is  a  letter  from  Marian  it  may  mean 
that  the  competition  is  decided;  but  if  it  is,  she  loses, 
because  she  was  to  telegraph  if  she  won." 

Linda  rushed  into  the  house  and  carried  her  belongings 
to  her  workroom.  She  dropped  them  on  the  table  and 
looked  at  them. 

"I'll  get  you  off  my  mind  first,"  she  said  to  the  Morrison 
package,  which  enclosed  a  new  article  entitled  "How  to 
Grow  Good  Citizens."  With  it  was  a  scrawled  line, 
"I'm  leaving  the  head  and  heels  of  the  future  to  you." 

"How  fine!"  exulted  Linda.  "He  must  have  liked  the 
head  and  tail  pieces  I  drew  for  his  other  article,  so  he 
wants  the  same  for  this,  and  if  he  is  well  paid  for  his  article, 
maybe  in  time,  after  I've  settled  for  my  hearth  motto,  he 
will  pay  me  something  for  my  work.  Gal-lum-shus!" 

As  she  opened  the  letter  from  Marian  she  slowly  shook 
her  head. 

"Drat  the  luck,"  she  muttered,  "no  good  news  here." 

Slowly  and  absorbedly  she  read: 

DEAREST  LINDA: 

No  telegram  to  send.  I  grazed  the  first  prize  and  missed  the 
second  because  Henry  Anderson  wins  with  plans  so  like  mine 


288  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

that  they  are  practically  duplicates.  I  have  not  seen  the  win 
ning  plans.  Mr.  Snow  told  me  as  gently  as  he  could  that  the 
judges  had  ruled  me  out  entirely.  The  winning  plans  are  prac 
tically  a  reversal  of  mine,  more  professionally  drawn,  and  no 
doubt  the  specifications  are  far  ahead  of  mine,  as  these  are  my 
weak  spot,  although  I  have  worked  all  day  and  far  into  the  night 
on  the  mathematics  of  house  building.  Mr.  Snow  was  very 
kind,  and  terribly  cut  up  about  it.  I  made  what  I  hope  was  a 
brave  fight,  I  did  so  believe  in  those  plans  that  I  am  afraid  to 
say  just  how  greatly  disappointed  I  am.  All  I  can  do  is  to 
go  to  work  again  and  try  to  find  out  how  to  better  my  best, 
which  I  surely  put  into  the  plans  I  submitted.  I  can't  see 
how  Henry  Anderson  came  to  hit  upon  some  of  my  personal 
designs  for  comforts  and  conveniences.  I  had  hoped  that  no 
man  would  think  of  my  especial  kitchen  plans.  I  rather  fancied 
myself  as  a  benefactor  to  my  sex,  an  emancipator  from  drudgery, 
as  it  were.  I  had  a  concealed  feeling  that  it  required  a  woman 
who  had  expended  her  strength  combating  the  construction  of 
a  devilish  kitchen,  to  devise  some  of  my  built-in  conveniences, 
and  I  worked  as  carefully  on  my  kitchen  table,  as  on  any  part 
of  the  house.  If  I  find  later  that  the  winning  plans  include  these 
things  I  shall  believe  that  Henry  Anderson  is  a  mind  reader,  or 
that  lost  plans  naturally  gravitate  to  him.  But  there  is  no  use  to 
grouch  further.  I  seem  to  be  born  a  loser.  Anyway,  I  haven't 
lost  you  and  I  still  have  Dana  Meade. 

I  have  nothing  else  to  tell  you  except  that  Mr.  Snow  has 
waited  for  me  two  evenings  out  of  the  week  ever  since  I  wrote 
you,  and  he  has  taken  me  in  his  car  and  simply  forced  me  to 
drive  him  for  an  hour  over  what  appeals  to  me  to  be  the  most  diffi 
cult  roads  he  could  select.  So  far  I  have  not  balked  at  anything, 
but  he  has  had  the  consideration  not  to  direct  me  to  the  moun 
tains.  He  is  extremely  attractive,  Linda,  and  I  do  enjoy  being 
with  him,  but  I  dread  it  too,  because  his  grief  is  so  deep  and  so 
apparent  that  it  constantly  keeps  before  me  the  loss  of  my  own 


THE  END  OF  MARIAN'S  CONTEST       289 

dear  ones,  and  those  things  to  which  the  hymn  books  refer  as 
"aching  voids"  in  my  own  life. 

But  there  is  something  you  will  be  glad  to  hear.  That  un 
known  correspondent  of  mine  is  still  sending  letters,  and  I  am 
crazy  about  them.  I  don't  answer  one  now  until  I  have  mulled 
over  it  two  or  three  days  and  I  try  to  give  him  as  good  as  he 
sends. 

I  judge  from  your  letters  that  you  are  keeping  at  least  even 
with  Eileen,  and  that  life  is  much  happier  for  you.  You  seem 
to  be  broadening.  I  am  so  glad  for  the  friendship  you  have 
formed  with  Donald  Whiting.  My  mother  and  Mrs.  Whiting 
were  friends.  She  is  a  charming  woman  and  it  has  seemed  to  me 
that  in  her  daughter  Louise  she  has  managed  a  happy  compound 
of  old-fashioned  straightforwardness  and  unswerving  principle, 
festooned  with  happy  trimmings  of  all  that  is  best  in  the  present 
days.  I  hope  that  you  do  become  acquainted  with  her.  She 
is  older  than  you,  but  she  is  the  kind  of  girl  I  know  you  would 
like. 

Don't  worry  because  I  have  lost  again,  Linda  dear.  To-day 
is  my  blue  day.  To-morrow  I  shall  roll  up  my  sleeves  and  go 
at  it  again  with  all  my  might,  and  by  and  by  it  is  written  in  the 
books  that  things  will  come  right  for  me.  They  cannot  go 
wrong  for  ever. 

With  dearest  love, 

MARIAN. 

Linda  looked  grim  as  she  finished  the  letter. 

"Confound  such  luck,"  she  said  emphatically.  "I  do 
not  understand  it.  How  can  a  man  like  Henry  Anderson 
know  more  about  comforts  and  conveniences  in  a  home 
than  a  woman  with  Marian's  experience  and  comprehen 
sion  ?  And  she  has  been  gaining  experience  for  the  past  ten 
years.  That  partner  of  his  must  be  a  six-cylinder  miracle." 


29o  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Linda  went  to  the  kitchen,  because  she  was  in  pressing 
need  of  someone  to  whom  to  tell  her  troubles,  and  there 
was  no  one  except  Katy.  What  Katy  said  was  ener 
getic  and  emphatic,  but  it  comforted  Linda,  because  she 
agreed  with  it  and  what  she  was  seeking  at  the  minute 
was  someone  who  agreed  with  her.  As  she  went  back 
upstairs,  she  met  Eileen  on  her  way  to  the  front  door. 
Eileen  paused  and  deliberately  studied  Linda's  face, 
and  Linda  stopped  and  waited  quietly  until  she  chose  to 
speak. 

"I  presume,"  said  Eileen  at  last,  "that  you  and  Katy 
would  call  the  process  through  which  you  are  going  right 
now,  'taking  the  bit  in  your  teeth/  or  some  poetic  thing 
like  that,  but  I  can't  see  that  you  are  getting  much  out 
of  it.  I  don't  hear  the  old  laugh  or  the  clatter  of  gay 
feet  as  I  did  before  all  this  war  of  dissatisfaction  broke  out. 
This  minute  if  you  haven't  either  cried,  or  wanted  to,  I 
rniss  my  guess." 

"You  win,"  said  Linda.  "I  have  not  cried,  because 
I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  resort  to  tears  when  I  can  help  it; 
so  what  you  see  now  is  unshed  tears  in  my  heart. 
They  in  no  way  relate  to  what  you  so  aptly  term  my  'war 
of  dissatisfaction';  they  are  for  Marian.  She  has  lost 
again,  this  time  the  Nicholson  and  Snow  prize  in  archi 


tecture." 


"Serves  her  right,"  said  Eileen,  laughing  contemptu 
ously.  "The  ridiculous  idea  of  her  trying  to  compete  in  a 
man's  age-old  occupation!  As  if  she  ever  could  learn 
enough  about  joists  and  beams  and  girders  and  install- 


THE  END  OF  MARIAN'S  CONTEST       291 

ing  water  and  gas  and  electricity  to  build  a  house.     She 
should  have  had  the  sense  to  know  she  couldn't  do  it." 

"But,"  said  Linda  quietly,  "Marian  wasn't  proposing 
to  be  a  contractor,  she  only  wants  to  be  an  architect.  And 
the  man  who  beat  her  is  Peter  Morrison's  architect, 
Henry  Anderson,  and  he  won  by  such  a  narrow  margin 
that  her  plans  were  thrown  out  of  second  and  third  place, 
because  they  were  so  very  similar  to  his.  Doesn't  that 
strike  you  as  curious?" 

"That  is  more  than  curious,"  said  Eileen  slowly.  "That 
is  a  very  strange  coincidence.  They  couldn't  have  had 
anything  from  each  other,  because  they  only  met  at 
dinner,  before  all  of  us,  and  Marian  went  away  the  next 
morning;  it  does  seem  queer.  Then  she  added  with  a 
flash  of  generosity  and  justice  "It  looks  pretty  good  for 
Marian,  at  that.  If  she  came  so  near  winning  that  she 
lost  second  and  third  because  she  was  too  near  first  to 
make  any  practical  difference,  I  must  be  wrong  and  she 
must  be  right." 

"You  are  wrong,"  said  Linda  tersely,  "if  you  think 
Marian  cannot  make  wonderful  plans  for  houses.  But 
going  back  to  what  my  'war  of  dissatisfaction'  is  doing  to 
me,  it's  a  pale  affair  compared  with  what  it  is  doing  to  you, 
Eileen.  You  look  a  debilitated  silhouette  of  the  near 
recent  past.  Do  you  feel  that  badly  about  giving  up  a 
little  money  and  authority?" 

"I  never  professed  to  have  the  slightest  authority  over 
you,"  said  Eileen  very  primly,  as  she  drew  back  in  the 
shadows.  "You  have  come  and  gone  exactly  as  you 


294  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

MY  DEAR  MADAM: 

I  sincerely  apologize  for  having  waited  so  long  before  writing 
you  of  the  very  exceptional  reception  which  your  articles  have 
had.  I  think  one  half  their  attraction  has  been  the  exquisite  and 
appealing  pictures  you  have  sent  for  their  illustration.  At  the 
present  minute  they  are  forming  what  I  consider  the  most  unique 
feature  in  the  magazine.  I  am  enclosing  you  a  cheque  for  five 
hundred  dollars  as  an  initial  payment  on  the  series.  Just 
what  the  completed  series  should  be  worth  I  am  unable  to  say 
until  you  inform  me  how  many  months  you  can  keep  it  up 
at  the  same  grade  of  culinary  and  literary  interest  and  attractive 
illustration;  but  I  should  say  at  a  rough  estimate  that  you  would 
be  safe  in  counting  upon  a  repetition  of  this  cheque  for  every 
three  articles  you  send  in.  This  of  course  includes  payment  for 
the  pictures  also,  which  are  to  me  if  anything  more  attractive 
than  the  recipes,  since  the  local  colour  and  environment  they 
add  to  the  recipe  and  the  word  sketch  are  valuable  in  the  extreme. 

If  you  feel  that  you  can  continue  this  to  the  extent  of  even  a 
small  volume,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  send  you  a  book  contract. 
In  considering  this  proposition,  let  me  say  that  if  you  could  not 
produce  enough  recipes  to  fill  a  book,  you  could  piece  it  out 
to  the  necessary  length  most  charmingly  and  attractively  by 
lengthening  the  descriptions  of  the  environment  in  which  the 
particular  fruits  and  vegetables  you  deal  with  are  to  be  found; 
and  in  book  form  you  might  allow  yourself  much  greater  latitude 
in  the  instructions  concerning  the  handling  of  the  fruits  and  the 
preparations  of  the  recipes.  I  think  myself  that  a  wonderfully 
attractive  book  could  be  made  from  this  material,  and  hope  that 
you  will  agree  with  me.  Trusting  that  this  will  be  satisfactory  to 
you  and  that  you  will  seriously  consider  the  book  proposition 
before  you  decline  it,  I  remain,  my  dear  madam, 

Very  truly  yours, 

HUGH  THOMPSON, 
Editor,  Everybody's  Home. 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  295 

Gripping  the  cheque  and  the  letter,  Linda  lurched 
forward  against  the  window  casement  and  shut  her  eyes 
tight,  because  she  could  feel  big,  nervous  gulps  of  exulta 
tion  and  rejoicing  swelling  up  in  her  throat.  She  shifted 
the  papers  to  one  hand  and  surreptitiously  slipped  the 
other  to  her  pocket.  She  tried  to  keep  the  papers  before 
her  and  looked  straight  from  the  window  to  avoid  attract 
ing  attention.  The  tumult  of  exultation  in  her  heart  was 
so  wild  that  she  did  not  surely  know  whether  she  wanted  to 
sink  to  the  floor,  lay  her  face  against  the  glass,  and  nv 
dulge  in  what  for  generations  women  have  referred  to  as 
"a  good  cry,"  or  whether  she  wanted  to  leap  from  the 
window  and  sport  on  the  wind  like  a  driven  leaf. 

Then  she  returned  the  letter  and  cheque  to  the  envelope, 
and  slipped  it  inside  her  blouse,  and  started  on  her 
way  to  school.  She  might  as  well  have  gone  to  Mul- 
tiflores  Canyon  and  pitted  her  strength  against  climbing 
its  walls  for  the  day,  for  all  the  good  she  did  in  her  school 
work.  She  heard  no  word  of  any  recitation  by  her  school 
mates.  She  had  no  word  ready  when  called  on  for  a  reci 
tation  herself.  She  heard  nothing  that  was  said  by  any  of 
the  professors.  On  winged  feet  she  was  flying  back  and 
forth  from  the  desert  to  the  mountains,  from  the  canyons 
to  the  sea.  She  was  raiding  beds  of  camass  and  devising 
ways  to  roast  the  bulbs  and  make  a  new  dish.  She  was 
compounding  drinks  from  mescal  and  bisnaga.  She  was 
hunting  desert  pickles  and  trying  to  remember  whether 
Indian  rhubarb  ever  grew  so  far  south.  She  was  glad 
when  the  dismissal  hour  came  that  afternoon.  With  eager 


294  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

MY  DEAR  MADAM: 

I  sincerely  apologize  for  having  waited  so  long  before  writing 
you  of  the  very  exceptional  reception  which  your  articles  have 
had.  I  think  one  half  their  attraction  has  been  the  exquisite  and 
appealing  pictures  you  have  sent  for  their  illustration.  At  the 
present  minute  they  are  forming  what  I  consider  the  most  unique 
feature  in  the  magazine.  I  am  enclosing  you  a  cheque  for  five 
hundred  dollars  as  an  initial  payment  on  the  series.  Just 
what  the  completed  series  should  be  worth  I  am  unable  to  say 
until  you  inform  me  how  many  months  you  can  keep  it  up 
at  the  same  grade  of  culinary  and  literary  interest  and  attractive 
illustration;  but  I  should  say  at  a  rough  estimate  that  you  would 
be  safe  in  counting  upon  a  repetition  of  this  cheque  for  every 
three  articles  you  send  in.  This  of  course  includes  payment  for 
the  pictures  also,  which  are  to  me  if  anything  more  attractive 
than  the  recipes,  since  the  local  colour  and  environment  they 
add  to  the  recipe  and  the  word  sketch  are  valuable  in  the  extreme. 

If  you  feel  that  you  can  continue  this  to  the  extent  of  even  a 
small  volume,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  send  you  a  book  contract. 
In  considering  this  proposition,  let  me  say  that  if  you  could  not 
produce  enough  recipes  to  fill  a  book,  you  could  piece  it  out 
to  the  necessary  length  most  charmingly  and  attractively  by 
lengthening  the  descriptions  of  the  environment  in  which  the 
particular  fruits  and  vegetables  you  deal  with  are  to  be  found; 
and  in  book  form  you  might  allow  yourself  much  greater  latitude 
in  the  instructions  concerning  the  handling  of  the  fruits  and  the 
preparations  of  the  recipes.  I  think  myself  that  a  wonderfully 
attractive  book  could  be  made  from  this  material,  and  hope  that 
you  will  agree  with  me.  Trusting  that  this  will  be  satisfactory  to 
you  and  that  you  will  seriously  consider  the  book  proposition 
before  you  decline  it,  I  remain,  my  dear  madam, 

Very  truly  yours, 

HUGH  THOMPSON, 
Editor,  Everybody's  Home. 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  295 

Gripping  the  cheque  and  the  letter,  Linda  lurched 
forward  against  the  window  casement  and  shut  her  eyes 
tight,  because  she  could  feel  big,  nervous  gulps  of  exulta 
tion  and  rejoicing  swelling  up  in  her  throat.  She  shifted 
the  papers  to  one  hand  and  surreptitiously  slipped  the 
other  to  her  pocket.  She  tried  to  keep  the  papers  before 
her  and  looked  straight  from  the  window  to  avoid  attract-* 
ing  attention.  The  tumult  of  exultation  in  her  heart  was 
so  wild  that  she  did  not  surely  know  whether  she  wanted  to 
sink  to  the  floor,  lay  her  face  against  the  glass,  and  in 
dulge  in  what  for  generations  women  have  referred  to  as 
"a  good  cry,"  or  whether  she  wanted  to  leap  from  the 
window  and  sport  on  the  wind  like  a  driven  leaf. 

Then  she  returned  the  letter  and  cheque  to  the  envelope, 
and  slipped  it  inside  her  blouse,  and  started  on  her 
way  to  school.  She  might  as  well  have  gone  to  Mul- 
tiflores  Canyon  and  pitted  her  strength  against  climbing 
its  walls  for  the  day,  for  all  the  good  she  did  in  her  school 
work.  She  heard  no  word  of  any  recitation  by  her  school 
mates.  She  had  no  word  ready  when  called  on  for  a  reci 
tation  herself.  She  heard  nothing  that  was  said  by  any  of 
the  professors.  On  winged  feet  she  was  flying  back  and 
forth  from  the  desert  to  the  mountains,  from  the  canyons 
to  the  sea.  She  was  raiding  beds  of  camass  and  devising 
ways  to  roast  the  bulbs  and  make  a  new  dish.  She  was 
compounding  drinks  from  mescal  and  bisnaga.  She  was 
hunting  desert  pickles  and  trying  to  remember  whether 
Indian  rhubarb  ever  grew  so  far  south.  She  was  glad 
when  the  dismissal  hour  came  that  afternoon.  With  eager 


296  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

feet  she  went  straight  to  the  Consolidated  Bank  and  there 
she  asked  again  to  be  admitted  to  the  office  of  the  presi 
dent.  Mr.  Worthington  rose  as  she  came  in. 

"Am  I  wrong  in  my  dates?"  he  inquired.  "I  was  not 
expecting  you  until  to-morrow." 

"No,  you're  quite  right,"  said  Linda.  "At  this  hour  to 
morrow.  But,  Mr.  Worthington,  I  am  in  trouble  again." 

Linda  looked  so  distressed  that  the  banker  pushed  a 
chair  to  the  table's  side  for  her,  and  when  she  had  seated 
herself,  he  said  quietly:  "Tell  me  all  about  it,  Linda.  We 
must  get  life  straightened  out  as  best  we  can." 

"I  think  I  must  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  Linda, 
"because  I  know  just  enough  about  banking  to  know  that 
I  have  a  proposition  that  I  don't  know  how  to  handle. 
Are  bankers  like  father  confessors  and  doctors  and 
lawyers  ? " 

"I  think  they  are  even  more  so,"  laughed  Mr.  Worth 
ington.  "Perhaps  the  father  confessor  takes  precedence, 
otherwise  I  believe  people  are  quite  as  much  interested  in 
their  financial  secrets  as  in  anything  else  in  all  this  world. 
Have  you  a  financial  secret?" 

"Yes,"  said  Linda,  "I  have  what  is  to  me  a  big  secret, 
and  I  don't  in  the  least  know  how  to  handle  it,  so  right 
away  I  thought  about  you  and  that  you  would  be  the  one 
to  tell  me  what  I  could  do." 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Mr.  Worthington  kindly.  "I'll  give 
you  my  word  of  honour  to  keep  any  secret  you  confide  to 


me." 


Linda  produced  her  letter.     She  opened  it  and  without 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  297 

any  preliminaries  handed  it  and  the  cheque  to  the  banker. 
He  looked  at  the  cheque  speculatively,  and  then  laid 
it  aside  and  read  the  letter.  He  gave  every  evidence  of 
having  read  parts  of  it  twoor  three  times,  then  he  examined 
the  cheque  again,  and  glanced  at  Linda. 

"And  just  how  did  you  come  into  possession  of  this, 
young  lady?"  he  inquired.  "And  what  is  it  that  you 
want  of  me?" 

"Why,  don't  you  see?"  said  Linda.  "It's  my  letter 
and  my  cheque.  I'm  'Jane  Meredith.'  Now  how  am  I 
going  to  get  my  money  ? " 

For  one  dazed  moment  Mr.  Worthington  studied  Linda; 
then  he  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  unrestrainedly. 
He  came  around  the  table  and  took  both  Linda's  hands. 

"Bully  for  you!"  he  cried  exultantly.  "How  I  wish 
your  father  could  see  the  seed  he  has  sown  bearing  its 
fruit.  Isn't  that  fine?  And  do  you  want  to  go  on  with 
this  anonymously?" 

"I  think  I  must,"  said  Linda.  "I  have  said  in  my  heart 
that  no  Jap,  male  or  female,  young  or  old,  shall  take  first 
honours  in  a  class  from  which  I  graduate;  and  you  can 
see  that  if  people  generally  knew  this,  it  would  make  it 
awfully  hard  for  me  to  go  on  with  my  studies,  and  I 
don't  know  that  the  editor  who  is  accepting  this  work 
would  take  it  if  he  knew  it  were  sent  him  by  a  high-school 
Junior.  You  see  the  dignified  way  in  which  he  addresses 
me  as  '  madam'  ? " 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Worthington  reflectively. 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Linda  with  demure  lips,  though  the 


29S  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

eyes  above  them  were  blazing  and  dancing  at  high  ten 
sion,  "I'm  sure  that  the  editor  is  attaching  a  husband, 
and  a  house  having  a  well-ordered  kitchen,  and  rather 
wide  culinary  experience  to  that  'dear  madam/' 

"And  what  about  this  book  proposition?"  asked  the 
banker  gravely.  "That  would  be  a  big  thing  for  a  girl  of 
your  age.  Can  you  do  it,  and  continue  your  school  work  ? " 

"With  the  background  I  have,  with  the  unused  ma 
terial  I  have,  and  with  vacation  coming  before  long,  I 
can  do  it  easily,"  said  Linda.  "My  school  work  is  not 
difficult  for  me.  It  only  requires  concentration  for  about 
two  hours  in  the  preparation  that  each  day  brings. 
The  remainder  of  the  time  I  could  give  to  amplifying 
and  producing  new  recipes." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  banker.  "  So  you  have  resolved,  Linda, 
that  you  don't  want  your  editor  to  know  your  real  name." 

"Could  scarcely  be  done,"  said  Linda. 

"But  have  you  stopped  to  think,"  said  the  banker, 
"that  you  will  be  asked  for  personal  history  and  about 
your  residence,  and  no  doubt  a  photograph  of  yourself.  IT 
you  continue  this  work  anonymously  you're  going  to  have 
trouble  with  more  matters  than  cashing  a  cheque." 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  have  any  trouble  cashing  a 
cheque,"  she  said,  "because  I  have  come  straight  to  the 
man  whose  business  is  cheques." 

"True  enough,"  he  said;  "I  shall  have  to  arrange  the 
cheque;  there's  not  a  doubt  about  that;  and  as  for  your 
other  bugbears " 

"I  refuse  to  be  frightened  by  them,"  interposed  Linda. 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  299 

"Have  you  ever  done  any  business  at  the  bank?" 

"No,"  said  Linda. 

"None  of  the  clerks  know  you?" 

"Not  that  I  remember,"  said  Linda.  "I  might  possibly 
be  acquainted  with  some  of  them.  I  have  merely  passed 
through  the  bank  on  my  way  to  your  room  twice." 

"Then,"  said  the  banker,  "we'll  have  to  risk  it.  After 
this  estate  business  is  settled  you  will  want  to  open  an 
account  in  your  name." 

"Quite  true,"  said  Linda. 

"Then  I  would  advise  you,"  said  Mr.  Worthington,  "to 
open  this  account  in  your  own  name.  Endorse  this 
cheque  'Jane  Meredith '  and  make  it  payable  to  me  per 
sonally.  Whenever  one  of  these  comes,  bring  it  to  me  and 
I'll  take  care  of  it  for  you.  One  minute." 

He  left  Linda  sitting  quietly  reading  and  re-reading  her 
letter,  and  presently  returned  and  laid  a  sheaf  of  paper 
money  before  her. 

"Take  it  to  the  paying  teller.  Tell  him  that  you  wish 
to  deposit  it,  and  ask  him  to  give  you  a  bank  book  and 
a  cheque  book,"  he  said.  "Thank  you  very  much  for 
coming  to  me  and  for  confiding  in  me." 

Linda  gathered  up  the  money,  and  said  good-bye  to  the 
banker.  Just  as  she  started  forward  she  recognized  Eileen 
at  the  window  of  the  paying  teller.  It  was  an  Eileen  she 
never  before  had  seen.  Her  face  was  strained  to  a  ghastly 
gray.  Her  hat  was  not  straight  and  her  hands  were 
shaking.  Without  realizing  that  she  was  doing  it,  Linda 
stepped  behind  one  of  the  huge  marble  pillars  supporting 


300  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

the  ceiling  and  stood  there  breathlessly,  watching  Eileen. 
She  could  gather  that  she  was  discussing  the  bank  ledger 
which  lay  before  the  teller  and  that  he  was  refusing  some 
thing  that  Eileen  was  imploring  him  to  do.  Linda  thought 
she  understood  what  it  was.  Then  very  clearly  Eileen's 
voice,  sharp  and  strained,  reached  her  ears. 

"You  mean  that  you  are  refusing  to  pay  me  my  deposits 
on  my  private  account?"  she  cried;  and  Linda  could  also 
hear  the  response. 

"I  am  very  sorry  if  it  annoys  or  inconveniences  you, 
Miss  Strong,  but  since  the  settlement  of  the  estate  takes 
place  to-morrow,  our  orders  are  to  pay  out  no  funds  in  any 
way  connected  with  the  estate  until  after  that  settlement 
has  been  arranged. " 

"  But  this  is  my  money,  my  own  private  affair,"  begged 
Eileen.  "The  estate  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"I  am  sorry,"  repeated  the  teller.  "If  that  is  the  case, 
you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  establishing  the  fact  in  a  few 


minutes'  time." 


Eileen  turned  and  left  the  bank,  and  it  seemed  that 
she  was  almost  swaying.  Linda  stood  a  second  with  nar 
rowed  eyes,  in  deep  thought. 

"I  think,"  she  said  at  last,  deep  down  in  her  heart,  "that 
it  looks  precious  much  as  if  there  had  been  a  bit  of  trans 
gression  in  this  affair.  It  looks,  too,  as  if  'the  way  of  the 
transgressor*  were  a  darned  hard  way.  Straight  ahead, 
open  and  aboveboard  for  you,  my  girl!" 

Then  she  went  quietly  to  the  desk  and  transacted  her 
own  business;  but  her  beautiful  day  was  clouded.  Her 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  301 

heart  was  no  longer  leaping  exultantly.  She  was  sickened 
and  sorrowful  over  the  evident  nerve  strain  and  discomfort 
which  Eileen  seemed  to  have  brought  upon  herself.  She 
dreaded  meeting  her  at  dinner  that  night,  and  she 
wondered  all  the  way  home  where  Eileen  had  gone  from 
the  bank  and  what  she  had  been  doing.  What  she  felt 
was  a  pale  affair  compared  with  what  she  would  have 
felt  if  she  could  have  seen  Eileen  leave  the  bank  and  enter 
a  near-by  store,  go  to  a  telephone  booth  and  put  in  a  long 
distance  call  for  San  Francisco.  Her  eyes  were  brilliant, 
her  cheeks  by  nature  redder  than  the  rouge  she  had  used 
upon  them.  She  squared  her  shoulders,  lifted  her  head, 
as  if  she  irrevocably  had  made  a  decision  and  would  not 
be  thwarted  in  acting  upon  it.  While  she  waited  she 
straightened  her  hat,  and  tucked  up  her  pretty  hair,  once 
more  evincing  concern  about  her  appearance.  After  a 
nervous  wait  she  secured  her  party. 

"Am  I  speaking  with  Mr.  James  Heitman?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  came  the  answer. 

"Well,  Uncle  Jim,  this  is  Eileen/' 

"Why,  hello,  girlie,"  was  the  quick  response.  "De 
lighted  that  you're  calling  your  ancient  uncle.  Haven't 
changed  the  decision  in  the  last  letter  I  had  from  you, 
have  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Eileen,  "I  have  changed  it.  Do  you  and 
Aunt  Caroline  still  want  me,  Uncle  Jim  ? " 

" You  bet  we  want  you!"  roared  the  voice  over  the 
'phone.  "Here  we  are,  with  plenty  of  money  and  not  a 
relation  on  earth  but  you  to  leave  it  to.  You  belong  to 


302  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

us  by  rights.  We'd  be  tickled  to  death  to  have  you,  and 
for  you  to  have  what's  left  of  the  money  when  we  get 
through  with  it.  May  I  come  after  you?  Say  the  word, 
and  I'll  start  this  minute." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Jim,  could  you?  Would  you?"  cried 
Eileen. 

"Well,  I'd  say  I  could.  We'd  be  tickled  to  death,  I 
tell  you!" 

"How  long  would  it  take  you  to  get  here?"  said  Eileen. 

"Well,  I  could  reach  you  by  noon  to-morrow.  Eleven 
something  is  the  shortest  time  it's  been  made  in;  that 
would  give  me  thirteen — more  than  enough.  Are  you  in 
that  much  of  a  hurry?" 

"Yes,"  gasped  Eileen,  "yes,  I  am  in  the  biggest  kind  of 
a  hurry  there  is,  Uncle  Jim.  This  troublesome  little  estate 
has  to  be  settled  to-morrow  afternoon.  There's  going  to 
be  complaint  about  everything  that  I  have  seen  fit  to  do. 
I've  been  hounded  and  harassed  till  I  am  disgusted  with  it. 
Then  I've  promised  to  marry  John  Oilman  as  I  wrote  you, 
and  I  don't  believe  you  would  think  that  was  my  best 
chance  with  the  opportunities  you  could  give  me.  It 
seems  foolish  to  stay  here,  abused  as  I  have  been  lately, 
and  as  I  will  be  to-morrow.  You  have  the  house  number. 
If  you  come  and  get  me  out  of  it  by  noon  to-morrow,  I'll 
go  with  you.  You  may  take  out  those  adoption  papers 
you  have  always  entreated  me  to  agree  to  and  I'll  be  a 
daughter  that  you  can  be  proud  of.  It  will  be  a  relief  to 
have  some  real  money  and  some  real  position,  and  to 
breathe  freely  and  be  myself  once  more." 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  303 

"All  right  for  you,  girlie!"  bellowed  the  great  voice  over 
the  line.  "Pick  up  any  little  personal  bits  you  can  put  in 
a  suitcase,  and  by  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow  I'll  whisk  you 
right  out  of  that  damn  mess." 

Eileen  walked  from  the  telephone  booth  with  her 
head  high,  triumph  written  all  over  her  face  and  figure. 
They  were  going  to  humiliate  her.  She  would  show 
them! 

She  went  home  immediately.  Entering  her  room,  she 
closed  the  door  and  stood  looking  at  her  possessions.  How 
could  she  get  her  trunk  from  the  garret  ?  How  could  she 
get  it  to  the  station  ?  Would  it  be  possible  for  Uncle  James 
to  take  it  in  his  car?  As  she  pondered  these  things  Eileen 
had  a  dim  memory  of  a  day  in  her  childhood  when  her 
mother  had  gone  on  business  to  San  Francisco  and  had 
taken  her  along.  She  remembered  a  huge  house,  all  tur 
rets  and  towers  and  gables,  all  turns  and  twists  and  angles, 
closed  to  the  light  of  day  and  glowing  inside  with  shining 
artificial  lights.  She  remembered  stumbling  over  deep 
rugs.  One  vivid  impression  was  of  walls  covered  with  huge 
canvases,  some  of  them  having  frames  more  than  a  foot 
wide.  She  remembered  knights  in  armour,  and  big  fire 
places,  and  huge  urns  and  vases.  It  seemed  to  her  like 
the  most  wonderful  bazaar  she  ever  had  been  in.  She 
remembered,  too,  that  she  had  been  glad  when  her  mother 
had  taken  her  out  into  the  sunshine  again  and  from  the 
presence  of  two  ponderous  people  who  had  objected 
strongly  to  everything  her  mother  had  discussed  with  them. 
She  paused  one  instant,  contemplating  this  picture.  The 


3o4  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

look  of  triumph  on  her  face  toned  down  considerably. 
Then  she  comforted  herself  aloud. 

"I've  heard  Mother  say,"  she  said  softly,  "that  every 
body  overdid  things  and  did  not  know  how  to  be  graceful 
with  immense  fortunes  got  from  silver  and  gold  mines,  and 
lumber.  It  will  be  different  now.  Probably  they  don't 
live  in  the  same  house,  even.  There  is  a  small  army  of 
servants,  and  there  is  nothing  I  can  think  of  that  Uncle 
Jim  won't  gladly  get  me.  I've  been  too  big  a  fool  for  words 
to  live  this  way  as  long  as  I  have.  Crush  me,  will  they? 
I'll  show  them!  I  won't  even  touch  these  things  I  have 
strained  so  to  get." 

Eileen  jerked  from  her  throat  the  strand  of  pearls  that 
she  had  worn  continuously  for  four  years  and  threw  it  con 
temptuously  on  her  dressing  table. 

"I'll  make  Uncle  Jim  get  me  a  rope  with  two  or  three 
strands  in  it  that  will  reach  to  my  waist.  'A  suitcase!' 
I  don't  know  what  I  would  fill  a  suitcase  with  from  here. 
The  trunk  may  stay  in  the  garret,  and  while  I  am  leaving 
all  this  rubbish,  I'll  just  leave  John  Gilman  with  it.  Uncle 
Jim  will  give  me  an  income  that  will  buy  all  the  cigarettes 
I  want  without  having  to  deceive  any  one;  and  I  can  have 
money  if  I  want  to  stake  something  at  bridge  without 
being  scared  into  paralysis  for  fear  somebody  may  find  it 
out  or  the  accounts  won't  balance.  I'll  put  on  the  most 
suitable  thing  I  have  to  travel  in,  and  just  walk  out  and 
leave  everything  else." 

That  was  what  Eileen  did.  At  noon  the  next  day  her 
eyes  were  bright  with  nervousness.  Her  cheeks  alter- 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  305 

nately  paled  with  fear  and  flooded  red  with  anxiety. 
She  had  dressed  herself  carefully,  laid  out  her  hat  and 
gloves  and  a  heavy  coat  in  case  the  night  should  be  chilly. 
Once  she  stood  looking  at  the  dainty,  brightly  coloured 
dresses  hanging  in  her  wardrobe.  A  flash  of  regret  passed 
over  her  face. 

"Tawdry  little  cheap  things  and  makeshifts,"  she  said. 
"If  Linda  feels  that  she  has  been  so  terribly  defrauded,  she 
can  help  herself  now!" 

By  twelve  o'clock  she  found  herself  standing  at  the 
window,  straining  her  eyes  down  Lilac  Valley.  She  was 
not  looking  at  its  helpful  hills,  at  its  appealing  curves,  at 
its  brilliant  colours.  She  was  watching  the  roadway. 
When  Katy  rang  to  call  her  to  lunch,  she  told  her  to  put 
the  things  away;  she  was  expecting  people  who  would  take 
her  out  to  lunch  presently.  In  the  past  years  she  had  oc 
casionally  written  to  her  uncle.  Several  times  when  he  had 
had  business  in  Los  Angeles  she  had  met  him  at  his  hotel 
and  dined  with  him.  She  reasoned  that  he  would  come 
straight  to  the  house  and  get  her,  and  then  they  would  go 
to  one  of  the  big  hotels  for  lunch  before  they  started. 

"I  shan't  feel  like  myself,"  said  Eileen,  "until  we  are 
well  on  the  way  to  San  Francisco." 

At  one  o'clock  she  was  walking  the  floor.  At  two  she 
was  almost  frantic.  At  half  past  she  almost  wished  that 
she  had  had  the  good  sense  to  have  some  lunch,  since  she 
was  very  hungry  and  under  tense  nerve  strain.  Once  she 
paused  before  the  glass,  but  what  she  saw  frightened  her. 
Just  when  she  felt  that  she  could  not  endure  the  strain 


3o6  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

another  minute,  grinding  brakes,  the  blast  of  a  huge 
Klaxon,  and  the  sound  of  a  great  voice  arose  from  the 
street.  Eileen  rushed  to  the  window.  She  took  one  look, 
caught  up  the  suitcase  and  raced  down  the  stairs.  At  the 
door  she  met  a  bluff,  big  man,  gross  from  head  to  foot. 
It  seemed  to  Eileen  strange  that  she  could  see  in  him 
even  a  trace  of  her  mother,  and  yet  she  could.  Red  veins 
crossed  his  cheeks  and  glowed  on  his  nose.  His  tired  eyes 
were  watery;  his  thick  lips  had  an  inclination  to  sag;  but 
there  was  heartiness  in  his  voice  and  earnestness  in  the 
manner  in  which  he  picked  her  up. 

"What  have  they  been  doing  to  you  down  here?"  he 
demanded.  "Never  should  have  left  you  this  long. 
Ought  to  have  come  down  and  taken  you  and  showed 
you  what  you  wanted,  and  then  you  would  have  known 
whether  you  wanted  it  or  not." 

At  this  juncture  a  huge  woman,  gross  in  a  feminine  way 
as  her  husband  was  in  his,  paddled  up  the  walk. 

"I'm  comin'  in  and  rest  a  few  minutes,"  she  said.  "I'm 
tired  to  death  and  I'm  pounded  to  pieces." 

Her  husband  turned  toward  her.  He  opened  his  lips 
to  introduce  Eileen.  His  wife  forestalled  him. 

"So  this  is  the  Eileen  you  have  been  ravin'  about  for 
years,"  she  said.  "I  thought  you  said  she  was  a  pretty 

girl." 

Eileen's  soul  knew  one  sick  instant  of  recoil.  She  looked 
from  James  Heitman  to  Caroline,  his  wife,  and  remembered 
that  he  had  a  habit  of  calling  her  "Cally."  All  that  paint 
and  powder  and  lip-stick  and  brilliantine  could  do  to  make 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  307' 

the  ponderous,  big  woman  more  ghastly  had  been  done, 
but  in  the  rush  of  the  long  ride  through  which  her  husband 
had  forced  her,  the  colours  had  mixed  and  slipped,  the 
false  waves  were  displaced.  She  was  not  in  any  con 
dition  to  criticize  the  appearance  of  another  woman.  For 
one  second  Eileen  hesitated,  then  she  lifted  her  shaking 
hands  to  her  hat. 

"I  have  been  hounded  out  of  my  senses"  she  said  apolo 
getically,  "and  have  been  so  terribly  anxious  for  fear  you 
wouldn't  get  here  on  time.  Please,  Aunt  Caroline,  let  us 
go  to  a  hotel,  some  place  where  we  can  straighten  up 
comfortably." 

"Well,  what's  your  hurry?"  said  Aunt  Caroline  coolly. 
"'You're  not  a  fugitive  from  justice,  are  you?  Can't  a 
body  rest  a  few  minutes  and  have  a  drink,  even?  Besides, 
I  am  going  to  see  what  kind  of  a  place  you've  been  living 
in,  and  then  I'll  know  how  thankful  you'll  be  for  what  we 
got  to  offer." 

Eileen  turned  and  threw  open  the  door.  The  big 
woman  walked  in.  She  looked  down  the  hall,  up  the  stair 
way,  and  went  on  to  the  living  room.  She  gave  it  one 
contemptuous  glance,  and  turning,  came  back  to  the  door. 

"All  right,  Jim,"  she  said  brusquely.  "I  have  seen 
enough.  If  you  know  the  best  hotel  in  the  town,  take 
me  there.  And  then,  if  Eileen's  in  such  a  hurry,  after 
we  have  had  a  bite  we'll  start  for  home." 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Caroline,  oh,  thank  you!"  cried 
Eileen. 

"You  needn't  take  the  trouble  to  'aunt*  tne  every  time 


3o8  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

you  speak  to  me,"  said  the  lady.  "I  know  you're  my  niece, 
but  I  ain't  goin'  to  remind  you  of  it  every  time  I  speak  to 
you.  It's  agein',  this  *  auntie'  business.  I  don't  stand 
for  it,  and  as  for  a  name,  I  am  free  to  confess  I  always 
like  the  way  Jim  calls  me  'Cally.'  That  sounds  younger 
and  more  companionable  than  'Caroline."1 

James  Heitman  looked  at  Eileen  and  winked. 

"You  just  bet,  old  girl!"  he  said.  "They  ain't  any 
of  them  can  beat  you,  not  even  Eileen  at  her  best.  Let's 
get  her  out  of  here.  Does  this  represent  your  luggage, 
girlie?" 

"You  said  not  to  bother  with  anything  else,"  said 
Eileen. 

"So  I  did,"  said  Uncle  Jim,  "and  I  meant  just  what  I 
said,  if  it's  all  right  with  you.  I  suppose  I  did  have,  in  the 
back  of  my  head,  an  idea  that  there  might  be  a  trunk  or  a 
box — some  things  that  belonged  to  your  mother,  mebby, 
and  your  'keepsakes." 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  interrupted  Eileen.  "Do  let's  go. 
It's  nearly  four  o'clock.  Any  minute  they  may  send  for 
me  from  the  bank,  and  I'd  be  more  than  glad  to  be  out 
of  the  way." 

"Well,  I'm  not  accustomed  to  being  the  porter,  but  \f 
time's  that  precious,  here  we  go,"  said  Uncle  Jim. 

He  picked  up  the  suitcase  with  one  hand  and  took  his 
wife's  arm  with  the  other. 

"Scoot  down  there  and  climb  into  that  boat,"  he  said 
proudly  to  Eileen.  "We'll  have  a  good  dinner  in  a  pri 
vate  room  when  we  get  to  the  hotel.  I  won't  even  regis- 


THE  DAY  OF  JUBILEE  309 

tcr.  And  then  we'll  get  out  of  here  when  we  have  rested 
a  little." 

" Can't  we  stay  all  night  and  go  in  the  morning?" 
panted  his  wife. 

"No,  ma'am,  we  can't,"  said  James  Heitman  authori 
tatively.  "We'll  eat  a  bite  because  we  need  to  be  fed  upr 
and  I  sincerely  hope  they's  some  decent  grub  to  be  had 
in  this  burg.  The  first  place  we  come  to  outside  of 
here,  that  looks  like  they  had  a  decent  bed,  we'll  stop 
and  make  up  for  last  night.  But  we  ain't  a-goin'  to  stay 
here  if  Eileen  wants  us  to  start  right  away,  eh,  Eileen?"1 

"Yes,  please!"  panted  Eileen.  "I  just  don't  want  to 
meet  any  of  them.  It's  time  enough  for  them  to  know 
what  has  happened  after  I  am  gone." 

"All  right  then,"  said  Uncle  James.  "Pile  in  and  we'll 
go." 

So  Eileen  started  on  the  road  to  the  unlimited  wealth 
her  soul  had  always  craved. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY 

A  THE  bank  Linda  and  John  Oilman  waited  an 
hour  past  the  time  set  for  Eileen's  appearance. 
Then  Linda  asserted  herself. 

"I  have  had  a  feeling  for  some  time,"  she  said  quietly, 
"that  Eileen  would  not  appear  to-day,  and  if  she  doesn't 
see  fit  to  come,  there  is  no  particular  reason  why  she  should. 
There  is  nothing  to  do  but  go  over  the  revenue  from  the 
estate.  The  books  will  show  what  Eileen  has  drawn 
monthly  for  her  expense  budget.  That  can  be  set  aside  and 
the  remainder  divided  equally  between  us.  It's  very  simple. 
Here  is  a  letter  I  wrote  to  the  publishers  of  Father's  books 
asking  about  royalties.  I  haven't  even  opened  it.  I 
will  turn  it  in  with  the  remainder  of  the  business." 

They  were  in  the  office  with  the  president  of  the  bank. 
He  rang  for  the  clerk  he  wanted  and  the  books  he  re 
quired,  and  an  hour's  rapid  figuring  settled  the  entire 
matter,  with  the  exception  of  the  private  account,  amount 
ing  to  several  thousands,  standing  in  Eileen's  name.  None 
of  them  knew  any  source  of  separate  income  she  might 
have.  At  a  suggestion  from  Linda,  the  paying  teller  was 
called  in  and  asked  if  he  could  account  for  any  of  the 
funds  that  had  gone  into  the  private  account. 

310 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  311 

"Not  definitely,"  he  said,  "but  the  amounts  always  cor 
responded  exactly  with  the  royalties  from  the  books.  I 
strongly  suspect  that  they  constitute  this  private  account 
of  Miss  Eileen's. " 

But  he  did  not  say  that  she  had  tried  to  draw  it  the  day 
previous. 

John  Oilman  made  the  suggestion  that  they  should  let 
the  matter  rest  until  Eileen  explained  about  it.  Then 
Linda  spoke  very  quietly,  but  with  considerable  finality 
\n  her  tone. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  know  that  Eileen  had  no  source 
Qf  private  income.  Mother  used  to  mention  that  she  had 
some  wealthy  relatives  in  San  Francisco,  but  they  didn't 
approve  of  her  marriage  to  what  they  called  a  'poor 
doctor/  and  she  would  never  accept,  or  allow  us  to  accept, 
anything  from  them.  They  never  came  to  see  us  and  we 
never  went  to  see  them.  Eileen  knows  no  more  about 
them  than  I  do.  We  will  work  upon  the  supposition  that 
everything  that  is  here  belonged  to  Father.  Set  aside 
to  Eileen's  credit  the  usual  amount  for  housekeeping  ex 
penses.  Turn  the  private  account  in  with  the  remainder. 
Start  two  new  bank  books,  one  for  Eileen  and  one  for  me. 
Divide  the  surplus  each  month  exactly  in  halves.  And  I 
believe  this  is  the  proper  time  for  the  bank  to  turn  over 
to  me  a  certain  key,  specified  by  my  father  as  having 
been  left  in  your  possession  to  be  delivered  to  me  on  my 
coming  of  age." 

With  the  key  in  her  possession,  Linda  and  John  Gilman 
left  the  bank.  As  they  stood  for  a  moment  in  front  of 


3i2  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

the  building,  Gilman  removed  his  hat  and  ran  his  hands 
through  his  hair  as  if  it  were  irritating  his  head. 

"  Linda,"  he  said  in  a  deeply  wistful  tone,  "  I  don't  under 
stand  this.  Why  shouldn't  Eileen  have  come  to-day  as  she 
agreed?  What  is  there  about  this  that  is  not  according 
to  law  and  honour  and  the  plain,  simple  rights  of  the  case  ? " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Linda;  "but  there  is  something 
we  don't  understand  about  it.  And  I  am  going  to  ask 
you,  John,  as  my  guardian,  closing  up  my  affairs  to-day, 
to  go  home  with  me  to  be  present  when  I  open  the  little  hid 
den  door  I  found  at  the  back  of  a  library  shelf  when  I  was 
disposing  of  Daddy's  technical  books.  There  was  a  slip  of 
paper  at  the  edge  of  it  specifying  that  the  key  was  in 
possession  of  the  Consolidated  Bank  and  was  to  be  deliv 
ered  to  me,  in  the  event  of  Daddy's  passing,  on  my  com 
ing  of  age.  I  have  the  key,  but  I  would  like  to  have  you 
with  me,  and  Eileen  if  she  is  in  the  house,  when  I  open  that 
door.  I  don't  know  what  is  behind  it,  but  there's  a  cer 
tain  feeling  that  always  has  been  strong  in  my  heart  and 
it  never  was  so  strong  as  it  is  at  this  minute." 

So  they  boarded  the  street  car  and  ran  out  to  Lilac 
Valley.  When  Katy  admitted  them  Linda  put  her  arm 
around  her  and  kissed  her.  She  could  see  that  the  house 
was  freshly  swept  and  beautifully  decorated  with  flowers, 
and  her  trained  nostrils  could  scent  whiffs  of  delicious 
odours  from  food  of  which  she  was  specially  fond.  In 
all  her  world  Katy  was  the  one  person  who  was  celebrating 
her  birthday.  She  seemed  rather  surprised  when  Linda 
and  Gilman  came  in  together. 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  313 

"Where  is  Eileen?"  inquired  Linda. 

"She  must  have  made  some  new  friends,"  said  Katy. 
"About  four  o'clock,  the  biggest  car  that  ever  roared 
down  this  street  rolled  up,  and  the  biggest  man  and 
woman  that  I  ever  see  came  puffin'  and  pantin'  in. 
Miss  Eileen  did  not  tell  me  where  she  was  goin'  or 
when  she  would  be  back,  but  I  know  it  won't  be  the 
night,  because  she  took  her  little  dressin'  case  with 
her.  Belike  it's  another  of  them  trips  to  Riverside  or 
Pasadena." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Linda  quietly.  "Katy,  can  you 
spare  a  few  minutes?" 

"No,  lambie,  I  jist  can't,"  said  Katy,  "because  a  young 
person  that's  the  apple  of  me  eye  is  havin'  a  birthday  the 
day  and  I  have  got  me  custard  cake  in  the  oven  and  the 
custard  is  in  the  makin',  and  after  Miss  Eileen  went  and 
I  didn't  see  no  chance  for  nothin'  special,  I  jist  happened 
to  look  out,  one  of  the  ways  ye  do  things  unbeknownst  to 
yourself,  and  there  stood  Mr.  Pater  Morrison  moonin' 
over  the  'graveyard',  like  he  called  it,  and  it  was  lookin' 
like  seein'  graves  he  was,  and  I  jist  took  the  bull  by  the 
horns,  and  I  sings  out  to  him  and  I  says:  'Mr.  Pater  Mor 
rison,  it's  a  good  friend  ye  were  to  the  young  missus  when 
ye  engineered  her  skylight  and  her  beautiful  fireplace,  and 
this  bein'  her  birthday,  I'm  takin1  the  liberty  to  ask  ye 
to  come  to  dinner  and  help  me  celebrate.'  And  he  said 
he  would  run  up  to  the  garage  and  get  into  his  raygimen- 
tals,  whatever  them  might  be,  and  he  would  be  here  at 
six  o'clock.  So  ye  got  a  guest  for  dinner,  and  if  the 


HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

custard's  scorched  and  the  cake's  flat,  it's  up  to  ye  for 
kapin'  me  here  to  tell  ye  all  this." 

Then  Katy  hurried  to  the  kitchen.  Linda  looked  at 
John  Gilman  and  smiled. 

"Isn't  that  like  her?"  she  said. 

Then  she  led  the  way  to  the  library,  pulled  aside  the 
books,  fitted  the  key  to  the  little  door,  and  opened  it. 
Inside  lay  a  single  envelope,  sealed  and  bearing  her  name. 
She  took  the  envelope,  and  walking  to  her  father's  chair 
beside  his  library  table,  sat  down  in  it,  and  laying  the  en 
velope  on  the  table,  crossed  her  hands  on  top  of  it. 

"John,"  she  said,  "ever  since  I  have  been  big  enough  to 
think  and  reason  and  study  things  out  for  myself,  there  is  a 
feeling  I  have  had — I  used  to  think  it  was  unreasonable, 
then  I  thought  it  remote  possibility.  This  minute  I 
think  it's  extremely  probable.  Before  I  open  this  envel 
ope  I  am  going  to  tell  you  what  I  believe  it  contains. 
I  have  not  the  slightest  evidence  except  personal  con 
viction,  but  I  believe  that  the  paper  inside  this  envelope 
is  written  by  my  father's  hand  and  I  believe  it  tells  me 
that  he  was  not  Eileen's  father  and  that  I  am  not  her 
sister.  If  it  does  not  say  this,  then  there  is  nothing  in  race 
and  blood  and  inherited  tendencies." 

Linda  picked  up  the  paper  cutter,  ran  it  across  the  en 
velope,  slipped  out  the  sheet,  and  bracing  herself  she 
read: 

MY  DARLING  LINDA: 

These  lines  are  to  tell  you  that  your  mother  went  to  her  eternal 
sleep  when  you  were  born.  Four  years  later  I  met  and  fell  in 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  315 

love  with  the  only  mother  you  ever  have  known.  At  the  time 
of  our  marriage  we  entered  into  a  solemn  compact  that  her 
little  daughter  by  a  former  marriage  and  mine  should  be  reared 
as  sisters.  I  was  to  give  half  my  earnings  and  to  do  for  Eileen 
exactly  as  I  did  for  you.  She  was  to  give  half  her  love  and  her 
best  attention  to  your  interests. 

I  sincerely  hope  that  what  I  have  done  will  not  result  in  any 
discomfort  or  inconvenience  to  you. 

With  dearest  love,  as  ever  your  father, 

ALEXANDER  STRONG. 


Linda  laid  the  sheet  on  the  table  and  dropped  her  hands 
on  top  of  it.  Then  she  looked  at  John  Gilman. 

"John,"  she  said,  "I  believe  you  had  better  face  the  fact 
that  the  big  car  and  the  big  people  that  carried  Eileen 
away  to-day  were  her  mother's  wealthy  relatives  from 
San  Francisco.  She  must  have  been  in  touch  with  them.  I 
think  very  likely  she  sent  for  them  after  I  saw  her  in  the 
bank  yesterday  afternoon,  trying  with  all  her  might  to 
make  the  paying  teller  turn  over  to  her  the  funds  of  the 
private  account." 

John  Gilman  sat  very  still  for  a  long  time,  then  he 
raised  tired,  disappointed  eyes  to  Linda's  face. 

"Linda,"  he  said,  "do  you  mean  you  think  Eileen  was 
not  straight  about  money  matters?" 

"John,"  said  Linda  quietly,  "I  think  it  is  time  for  the 
truth  about  Eileen  between  you  and  me.  If  you  want  me 
to  answer  that  question  candidly,  I'll  answer  it." 

"I  want  the  truth,"  said  John  Gilman  gravely. 

"Well,"  said  Linda,  "I  never  knew  Eileen  to  be  honest 


3i6  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

about  anything  in  all  her  life  unless  the  truth  served  her 
better  than  an  evasion.  Her  hair  was  not  honest  colour 
and  it  was  not  honest  curl.  :  Her  eyebrows  were  not  so 
dark  as  she  made  them.  Her  cheeks  and  lips  were  not  so 
red,  her  forehead  and  throat  were  not  so  white,  her  form 
was  not  so  perfect.  Her  friends  were  selected  because  they 
could  serve  her.  As  long  as  you  were  poor  and  struggling, 
Marian  was  welcome  to  you.  When  you  won  a  great  case 
and  became  prosperous  and  fame  came  rapidly,  Eileen 
took  you.  I  believe  what  I  told  you  a  minute  ago:  I 
think  she  has  gone  for  good.  I  think  she  went  because 
she  had  not  been  fair  and  she  would  not  be  forced  to 
face  the  fact  before  you  and  me  and  the  president  of  the 
Consolidated  to-day.  I  think  you  will  have  to  take  your 
heart  home  to-night  and  I  think  that  before  the  night  is 
over  you  will  realize  what  Marian  felt  when  she  knew 
that  in  addition  to  having  been  able  to  take  you  from  her, 
Eileen  was  not  a  woman  who  would  make  you  happy.  I 
am  glad,  deeply  glad,  that  there  is  not  a  drop  of  her  blood 
in  my  veins,  sorry  as  I  am  for  you  and  much  as  I  regret 
what  has  happened.  I  won't  ask  you  to  stay  to-night, 
because  you  must  go  through  the  same  blackwaters  Marian 
breasted,  and  you  will  want  to  be  alone.  Later,  if  you 
think  of  any  way  I  can  serve  you,  I  will  be  glad  for  old 
sake's  sake;  but  you  must  not  expect  me  ever  to  love 
you  or  respect  your  judgment  as  I  did  before  the  shadow 
fell." 

Then  Linda  rose,  replaced  the  letter,  turned  the  key 
in  the  lock,  and  quietly  slipped  out  of  the  room. 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  317 

When  she  opened  her  door  and  stepped  into  her  room 
she  paused  in  astonishment.  Spread  out  upon  the  bed 
lay  a  dress  of  georgette  with  little  touches  of  fur  and 
broad  ribbons  of  satin.  In  colour  it  was  like  the  flame  of 
seasoned  beechwood.  Across  the  foot  of  the  bed  hung 
petticoat,  camisole,  and  hose,  and  beside  the  dress  a  pair  of 
satin  slippers  exactly  matching  the  hose,  and  they  seemed 
the  right  size.  Linda  tiptoed  to  the  side  of  the  bed 
and  delicately  touched  the  dress,  and  then  she  saw  a 
paper  lying  on  the  waist  front,  and  picking  it  up 
read: 

Lambie,  here's  your  birthday,  from  loving  old  Katy. 

The  lines  were  terse  and  to  the  point.  Linda 
laid  them  down,  and  picking  up  the  dress  she  walked  to 
the  mirror,  and  holding  it  under  her  chin  glanced  down 
the  length  of  its  reflection.  What  she  saw  almost  stunned 
her. 

"Oh,  good  Lord!"  she  said.  "I  can't  wear  that. 
That  isn't  me." 

Then  she  tossed  the  dress  on  the  bed  and  started  in  a 
headlong  rush  to  the  kitchen.  As  she  came  through 
the  door,  "You  blessed  old  darling!"  she  cried.  "What 
am  I  going  to  say  to  make  you  know  how  I  appreciate  your 
lovely,  lovely  gift  ? " 

Katy  raised  her  head.  There  was  something  that  is 
supposed  to  be  the  prerogative  of  royalty  in  the  lift  of  it. 
Her  smile  was  complacent  in  the  extreme. 


3i8  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Don't  ye  be  standin'  there  wastin'  no  time  talking" 
she  said. 

"I  have  oodles  of  time,"  said  Linda,  "but  I  warn 
you,  you  won't  know  me  if  I  put  on  that  frock, 
Katy." 

"Yes,  I  will,  too,"  said  Katy. 

"Katy,"  said  Linda,  sobering  suddenly,  "would  it 
make  any  great  difference  to  you  if  I  were  the  only  one 
here  for  always,  after  this  ? " 

Katy  laughed  contemptuously. 

"Well,  Fd  warrant  to  survive  it,"  she  said  coolly. 

"But  that  is  exactly  what  I  must  tell  you,  Katy,"  said 
Linda  soberly.  "You  know  I  have  told  you  a  number  of 
times  through  these  years  that  I  did  not  believe  Eileen 
and  I  were  sisters,  and  I  am  telling  you  now  that  I  know  it. 
She  did  not  come  to  the  bank  to-day,  and  the  settlement 
of  Father's  affairs  developed  the  fact  that  I  was  my 
father's  child  and  Eileen  was  her  mother's;  and  I'm  think 
ing,  Katy,  that  the  big  car  you  saw  and  the  opulent  people 
in  it  were  Eileen's  mother's  wealthy  relatives  from  San 
Francisco.  My  guess  is,  Katy,  that  Eileen  has  gone 
with  them  for  good.  Lock  her  door  and  don't  touch  her 
things  until  we  know  certainly  what  she  wants  done 
with  them." 

Katy  stood  thinking  intently,  then  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  Linda's. 

"Lambie,"  she  whispered  softly,  "are  we  ixpicted  to 
go  into  mourning  over  this  ? " 

A  mischievous  light  leaped  into  Linda's  eyes. 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  319 

"Well,  if  there  are  any  such  expectations  abroad, 
Katherine  O'Donovan,"  she  said  soberly,  "the  saints 
preserve  'em,  for  we  can't  fulfil  'em,  can  we,  Katy?" 

"Not  to  be  savin'  our  souls,"  answered  Katy  heartily. 
"I'm  jist  so  glad  and  thankful  that  I  don't  know  what 
to  do,  and  it's  such  good  news  that  I  don't  belave  one  word 
of  it.  And  while  you're  talkin',  what  about  John  Gil- 
man?" 

"I  think,"  said  Linda  quietly,  "that  to-night  is  going 
to  teach  him  how  Marian  felt  in  her  blackest  hours." 

"Well,  he  needn't  be  coming  to  me  for  sympathy," 
said  Katy.  "  But  if  Miss  Eileen  has  gone  to  live  with  the 
folks  that  come  after  her  the  day,  ye  might  be  savin'  a 
wee  drap  o'  sympathy  for  her,  lambie.  They  was  jist 
the  kind  of  people  that  you'd  risk  your  neck  slidin'  down 
a  mountain  to  get  out  of  their  way." 

"That  is  too  bad,"  said  Linda  reflectively;  "because 
Eileen  is  sensitive  and  constant  contact  with  crass  vul 
garity  certainly  would  wear  on  her  nerves." 

"Now  you  be  goin'  and  gettin'  into  that  dress,  lambie," 
said  Katy. 

"Katherine  O'Donovan,"  said  Linda,  "you're  used  to 
it;  come  again  to  confession.  Tell  me  truly  where  and 
how  did  you  get  that  dress?" 

°Tain't  no  rule  of  polite  society  to  be  lookin'  gift 
horses  in  the  mouth,"  said  Katy  proudly.  "How  I  got 
it  is  me  own  affair,  jist  like  ye  got  any  gifts  ye  was  ever 
makin'  me,  is  yours.  Where  I  got  it  ?  I  went  into  the  city 
on  the  strate  car  and  I  went  to  the  biggest  store  in  the 


320  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

city  and  I  got  in  the  elevator  and  I  says  to  the  naygur: 
'Let  me  off  where  real  ladies  buy  ready-to-wear  dresses/ 

"And  up  comes  a  little  woman,  and  her  hair  was  jist  as 
soft  and  curling  round  her  ears,  and  brown  and  pretty 
was  her  eyes,  and  the  pink  that  God  made  was  in  her 
cheeks,  and  in  a  voice  like  runnin'  water  she  says:  'Could 
I  do  anything  for  you?'  I  told  her  what  I  wanted.  And 
she  says:  'How  old  is  the  young  lady,  and  what's  her  size, 
and  what's  her  colour?'  Darlin',  ain't  that  dress  the 
answer  to  what  I  told  her?" 

"Yes,"  said  Linda.  "If  an  artist  had  been  selecting  a 
dress  for  me  he  would  probably  have  chosen  that  one. 
But,  old  dear,  it's  not  suitable  for  me.  It's  not  the  kind 
of  dress  that  I  intended  to  wear  for  years  and  years  yet. 
Do  you  think,  if  I  put  it  on  to-night,  I'll  ever  be  able  to  go 
back  to  boots  and  breeches  again,  and  hunt  the  canyons 
for  plants  to  cook  for — you  know  what?" 

Katy  stood  in  what  is  commonly  designated  as  a  "  brown 
study."  Then  she  looked  Linda  over  piercingly. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  she  said  conclusively.  "It's  my 
judgment  that  ye  will.  I  think  ye'll  maybe  wrap  the 
braids  of  ye  around  your  head  to-night,  and  I  think 
ye'll  put  on  that  frock,  and  I  think  ye'll  show  Pater 
Morrison  how  your  pa's  daughter  can  sit  at  the  head 
of  his  table  and  entertain  her  friends.  Then  I  think  ye'll 
hang  it  in  your  closet  and  put  on  your  boots  and  breeches 
and  go  back  to  your  old  Multiflores  and  attind  to  your 
business,  the  same  as  before." 

"All  right,  Katy,"  said  Linda,  "if  you  have  that  much 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  321 

faith  in  me  I  have  that  much  faith  in  myself;  but,  old  dear, 
I  can't  tell  you  how  I  love  having  a  pretty  dress  for  to 
night.  Katy  dear,  the  'Day  of  Jubilee'  has  come.  Be 
fore  you  go  to  sleep  I'm  coming  to  your  room  to  tell  you 
fine  large  secrets,  that  you  won't  believe  for  a  minute,  but 
I  haven't  the  time  to  do  it  now." 

Then  Linda  raced  to  her  room  and  began  dressing. 
She  let  down  the  mop  of  her  hair  waving  below  her  waist 
and  looked  at  it  despairingly. 

"That  dress  never  was  made  for  braids  down  your 
back,"  she  said,  glancing  toward  the  bed  where  it  lay 
shimmering  in  a  mass  of  lovely  colour.  "I  am  of  age  to 
day;  for  state  occasions  I  should  be  a  woman.  What 
shall  I  do  with  it?" 

And  then  she  recalled  Katy's  voice  saying:  "Braids 
round  your  head." 

"Of  course,"  said  Linda,  "that  would  be  the  thing  to 
do.  I  certainly  don't  need  anything  to  add  to  my  height; 
I  am  far  too  tall  now." 

So  she  parted  her  hair  in  the  middle,  brushed  it  back, 
divided  it  in  even  halves,  and  instead  of  braiding  it,  she 
coiled  it  around  her  head,  first  one  side  and  then  the 
other. 

She  slipped  into  the  dress  and  struggled  with  its  many 
and  intricate  fastenings.  Then  she  went  to  the  guest 
room  to  stand  before  the  full-length  mirror  there.  Slowly 
she  turned.  Critically  she  examined  herself. 

"It's  a  bit  shorter  than  I  would  have  ordered  it,"  she 
said,  "but  it  reduces  my  height,  it  certainly  gives  wonder- 


r322  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ful  freedom  in  walking,  and  it's  not  nearly  so  short  as  I  see 
other  girls  wearing." 

Again  she  studied  herself  critically. 

"Need  some  kind  of  ornament  for  my  hair,"  she  mut 
tered,  "but  I  haven't  got  it,  and  neither  do  I  own  beads, 
bracelet,  or  a  ring;  and  my  ears  are  sticking  right  out  in 
the  air.  I  am  almost  offensively  uncovered." 

Then  she  went  down  to  show  herself  to  a  delighted  Katy. 
When  the  door-bell  rang  Linda  turned  toward  the  hall. 
Katy  reached  a  detaining  hand. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  said.  "I  answered 
the  bell  for  Miss  Eileen.  Answer  the  bell  I  shall  for  you." 

Down  the  hall  went  Katy  with  the  light  of  battle  in 
her  eyes  and  the  air  of  a  conqueror  in  the  carriage  of  her 
head.  She  was  well  trained.  Neither  eyelid  quivered  as 
she  flung  the  door  wide  to  Peter  Morrison.  He  stood 
there  in  dinner  dress,  more  imposing  than  Katy  had 
thought  he  could  be.  With  quick,  inner  exultation  she 
reached  for  two  parcels  he  carried;  over  them  her  delight 
was  so  overpowering  that  Peter  Morrison  must  have  seen 
a  hint  of  it.  With  a  flourish  Katy  seated  him,  and  carried 
the  packages  to  Linda.  She  returned  a  second  later  for 
a  big  vase,  and  in  this  Linda  arranged  a  great  sheaf  of 
radiant  roses.  As  Katy  started  to  carry  them  back  to  the 
room,  Linda  said  "Wait  a  second,"  and  selecting  one  half 
opened,  she  slipped  it  out,  shortened  the  stem  and  tucked 
it  among  the  coils  of  hair  where  she  would  have  set  an 
ornament.  The  other  package  was  a  big  box  that  when 
opened  showed  its  interior  to  be  divided  into  compart- 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  323 

ments  in  each  of  which  nestled  an  exquisite  flower  made  of 
spun  sugar.  The  petals,  buds,  and  leaves  were  perfect. 
There  were  wonderful  roses  with  pale  pink  outer  petals 
and  deeper-coloured  hearts.  There  were  pink  mallows 
that  seemed  as  if  they  must  have  been  cut  from  the 
bushes  bordering  Santa  Monica  road.  There  were  holly 
hocks  of  white  and  gold,  and  simply  perfect  tulips.  Linda 
never  before  had  seen  such  a  treasure  candy  box.  She 
cried  out  in  delight,  and  hurried  to  show  Katy.  In  her 
pleasure  over  the  real  flowers  and  the  candy  flowers 
Linda  forgot  her  dress,  but  when  she  saw  Peter  Morrison 
standing  tall  and  straight,  in  dinner  dress,  she  stopped 
and  looked  the  surprise  and  pleasure  she  felt.  She  had 
grown  accustomed  to  Peter  in  khaki  pottering  around  his 
building.  This  Peter  she  never  before  had  seen.  He 
represented  something  of  culture,  something  of  pride,  a 
conformity  to  a  nice  custom  and  something  more.  Linda 
was  not  a  psycho-analyst.  She  could  not  see  a  wonderful 
aura  of  exquisite  colour  enveloping  Peter.  But  when 
Peter  saw  the  girl  approaching  him,  transformed  into  a 
woman  whose  shining  coronet  was  jewelled  with  his  living 
red  rose,  when  he  saw  the  beauty  of  her  lithe  slenderness 
clothed  in  a  soft,  flaming  colour,  something  emanated 
from  his  inner  consciousness  that  Linda  did  see,  and  for 
an  instant  it  disturbed  her  as  she  went  forward  holding 
out  her  hands. 

"Peter,"  she  said  gaily,  "do  you  know  that  this  is  my 
Day  of  Jubilee?  I  am  a  woman  to-day  by  law,  Peter. 
Hereafter  I  am  to  experience  at  least  a  moderate  degree 


324  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

of  financial  freedom,  and  that  I  shall  enjoy.  But  the 
greatest  thing  in  life  is  friends." 

Peter  took  both  the  hands  extended  to  him  and  looked 
smilingly  into  her  eyes. 

"You  take  my  breath,"  he  said.  "I  knew,  the  first 
glimpse  I  ever  had  of  you  scrambling  from  the  canyon 
floor,  that  this  transformation  could  take  place.  My  good 
fortune  is  beyond  words  that  I  have  been  first  to  see  it. 
Permit  me,  fair  lady." 

Peter  bent  and  kissed  both  her  hands.  He  hesitated  a 
second,  then  he  turned  the  right  hand  and  left  one  more 
kiss  in  its  palm. 

"To  have  and  to  hold!"  he  said  whimsically. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Linda,  closing  her  fist  over  it  and 
holding  it  up  for  inspection.  "I'll  see  that  it  doesn't 
escape.  And  this  minute  I  thank  you  for  the  candy, 
which  I  know  is  delicious,  and  for  my  very  first  sheaf  of 
roses  from  any  man.  See  what  I  have  done  with  one  of 
them?" 

She  turned  fully  around  that  he  might  catch  the  effect 
of  the  rose,  and  in  getting  that  he  also  got  the  full  effect 
of  the  costume,  and,  the  possibilities  of  the  girl  before  him. 
And  then  she  gave  him  a  shock. 

"Isn't  it  a  lovely  frock?"  she  said.  "Another  birthday 
gift  from  the  Strong  rock  of  ages.  I  have  been  making  a 
collection  of  rocks  for  my  fern  bed,  and  I  have  got  another 
collection  that  is  not  visible  to  any  one  save  myself. 
Katy's  a  rock,  and  you're  a  rock,  and  Donald  is  a  rock, 
and  Marian's  a  rock,  and  I  am  resting  securely  on  all  of 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  325 

you.  I  wish  my  father  knew  that  in  addition  to  Marian 
and  Katy  I  have  found  two  more  such  wonderful  friends." 

"And  what  about  Henry  Anderson?"  inquired  Peter. 
"Aren't  you  going  to  include  him?" 

Linda  walked  over  to  the  chair  in  which  she  intended  to 
seat  herself. 

"Peter,"  she  said,  "I  wish  you  hadn't  asked  me  that." 

Peter's  figure  tensed  suddenly. 

"Look  here,  Linda,"  he  said  sternly,  "has  that  rather 
bold  youngster  made  himself  in  any  way  offensive  to  you?" 

"Not  in  any  way  that  I  am  not  perfectly  capable  of* 
handling  myself,"  said  Linda.  She  looked  at  Peter  con 
fidently. 

"Do  you  suppose,"  she  said,  "that  I  can  sit  down  in 
this  thing  without  ruining  it  ?  Shouldn't  I  really  stand  up 
while  I  am  wearing  it  ? " 

Peter  laughed  unrestrainedly. 

"Linda,  you're  simply  delicious,"  he  said.  "It  seems 
to  me  that  I  have  seen  young  ladies  in  like  case  reach 
round  and  gather  the  sash  to  one  side  and  smooth  out  the 
skirt  as  they  sit." 

"Thank  you,  Peter,  of  course  that  would  be  the  way," 
said  Linda.  "This  being  my  first,  I'm  lacking  in  ex 
perience." 

And  thereupon  she  sat  according  to  direction;  while 
Peter  sat  opposite  her. 

"Now  finish.  Just  one  word  more  about  Henry  Ander 
son,"  he  said.  "Are  you  perfectly  sure  there  is  nothing  I 
need  do  for  you  in  that  connection?" 


326  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Oh,  perfectly,"  said  Linda  lightly.  "I  didn't  mean  to 
alarm  you.  He  merely  carried  that  bug-catcher  nonsense 
a  trifle  too  far.  I  wouldn't  have  minded  humouring 
him  and  fooling  about  it  a  little.  But,  Peter,  do  you 
know  him  quite  well?  Are  you  very  sure  of  him?" 

"No,"  said  Peter,  "I  don't  know  him  well  at  all.  The 
only  thing  I  am  sure  about  him  is  that  he  is  doing  well  in 
his  profession.  I  chose  him  because  he  was  an  ambitious 
youngster  and  I  thought  I  could  get  more  careful  attention 
from  him  than  I  could  from  some  of  the  older  fellows 
who  had  made  their  reputation.  You  see,  there  are  such 
a  lot  of  things  I  want  to  know  about  in  this  building 
proposition,  and  the  last  four  years  haven't  been  a  time 
for  any  man  to  be  careful  about  saving  his  money." 

"Then,"  said  Linda,  "he  is  all  right,  of  course.  He 
must  be.  But  I  think  I'm  like  a  cat.  I'm  very  complac 
ent  with  certain  people,  but  when  I  begin  to  get  goose 
flesh  and  hair  prickles  my  head  a  bit,  I  realize  that  there 
is  something  antagonistic  around,  something  for  me  to 
beware  of.  I  guess  it's  because  I  am  such  a  wild  creature." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Peter,  "that  these  are  the 
sensations  that  Henry  gives  you?" 

Linda  nodded. 

"Now  forget  Henry,"  she  said.  "I  have  had  such  a  big 
day  I  must  tell  you  about  it,  and  then  we'll  come  to  that 
last  article  you  left  me.  I  haven't  had  time  to  put  any 
thing  on  paper  concerning  it  yet,  but  I  believe  I  have  an 
awfully  good  idea  in  the  paint  pot,  and  I'll  find  time  in  a 
day  or  two  to  work  it  out.  Peter,  I  have  just  come 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  327 

from  the  bank,  where  I  was  recognized  as  of  legal  age,  and 
my  guardian  discharged.  And  perhaps  I  ought  to  ex 
plain  to  you,  Peter,  that  your  friend,  John  Oilman,  is 
not  here  because  this  night  is  going  to  be  a  bad  one 
for  him.  When  you  knew  him  best  he  was  engaged,  or 
should  have  been,  to  Marian  Thorne.  When  you  met 
him  this  time  he  really  was  engaged  to  Eileen.  I  don't 
know  what  you  think  about  Eileen.  I  don't  feel  like 
influencing  any  one's  thought  concerning  her,  so  I'll 
merely  say  that  to-day  has  confirmed  a  conviction  that 
always  has  been  in  my  heart.  Katy  could  tell  you  that 
long  ago  I  said  to  her  that  I  did  not  believe  Eileen  was  my 
sister.  To-day  has  brought  me  the  knowledge  and  proof 
positive  that  she  is  not,  and  to-day  she  has  gone  to  some 
wealthy  relatives  of  her  mother  in  San  Francisco.  She 
expressed  her  contempt  for  what  she  was  giving  up  by 
leaving  every  thing,  including  the  exquisite  little  necklace  of 
pearls  which  has  been  a  daily  part  of  her  since  she  owned 
them.  I  may  be  mistaken,  but  intuition  tells  me  that  with 
the  pearls  and  the  wardrobe  she  has  also  discarded  John 
Gilman.  I  think  your  friend  will  be  suffering  to-night 
quite  as  deeply  as  my  friend  suffered  when  John  aban 
doned  her  at  a  time  when  she  had  lost  everything  else 
in  life  but  her  money.  I  feel  very  sure  that  we  won't  see 
Eileen  any  more.  I  hope  she  will  have  every  lovely  thing 
in  life." 

"Amen,"  said  Peter  Morrison  earnestly.  "  I  loved  John 
Gilman  when  we  were  in  school  together,  but  I  have  not 
been  able  to  feel,  since  I  located  here,  that  he  is  exactly 


328  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

the  same  John;  and  what  you  have  told  me  very  probably 
explains  the  difference  in  him." 

When  Katy  announced  dinner  Linda  arose. 

Peter  Morrison  stepped  beside  her  and  offered  his  arm. 
Linda  rested  her  finger  tips  upon  it  and  he  led  her  to  the 
head  of  the  table  and  seated  her.  Then  Katy  served  a 
meal  that,  if  it  had  been  prepared  for  Eileen,  she  would 
have  described  as  a  banquet.  She  gave  them  delicious, 
finely  flavoured  food,  stimulating,  exquisitely  compounded 
drinks  that  she  had  concocted  from  the  rich  fruits  of 
California  and  mints  and  essences  at  her  command.  When, 
at  the  close  of  the  meal,  she  brought  Morrison  some  of  the 
cigars  Eileen  kept  for  John  Gilman,  she  set  a  second  tray 
before  Linda,  and  this  tray  contained  two  packages. 
Linda  looked  at  Katy  inquiringly,  and  Katy,  her  face 
beaming,  nodded  her  sandy  red  head  emphatically. 

"More  birthday  gifts  you're  havin',  me  lady,"  she  said 
in  her  mellowest  Irish  voice. 

"More?"  marvelled  Linda.  She  picked  up  the  larger 
package,  and  opening  it,  found  a  beautiful  book  inscribed 
from  her  friend  Donald,  over  which  she  passed  caressing 
fingers. 

"Why,  how  lovely  of  him!"  she  said.  "How  in  this 
world  did  he  know?" 

Katherine  O'Donovan  could  have  answered  that  ques 
tion,  but  she  did  not.  The  other  package  was  from  Marian. 
When  she  opened  it  Linda  laughed  unrestrainedly. 

"What  a  joke!"  she  said.  "I  had  promised  myself  that 
I  would  not  touch  a  thing  in  Eileen's  room,  and  before  I 


LINDA'S  FIRST  PARTY  329 

could  do  justice  to  Katy's  lovely  dress  I  had  to  go  there  for 
pins  for  my  hair  and  powder  for  my  nose.  This  is  Marian's 
way  of  telling  me  that  I  am  almost  a  woman.  Will  you 
look  at  this?" 

"Well,  just  what  is  it?"  inquired  Peter. 

"Hairpins,"  laughed  Linda,  "and  hair  ornaments,  and 
a  box  of  face  powder,  and  the  little,  feminine  touches  that 
my  dressing  table  needs  badly.  How  would  you  like, 
Peter,  to  finish  your  cigar  in  my  workroom?" 

"I  would  like  it  immensely,"  said  Peter. 

So  together  they  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  house. 
Linda  knelt  and  made  a  little  ceremony  of  lighting  the 
first  fire  in  her  fireplace.  She  pushed  one  of  her  chairs  to 
one  side  for  Peter,  and  taking  the  other  for  herself,  she  sat 
down  and  began  the  process  of  really  becoming  acquainted 
with  him.  Two  hours  later,  as  he  was  leaving  her,  Peter 
made  a  circuit  of  the  room,  scrutinizing  the  sketches  and 
paintings  that  were  rapidly  covering  the  walls,  and 
presently  he  came  to  the  wasp.  He  looked  at  it  so  closely 
that  he  did  not  miss  even  the  stinger.  Linda  stood  beside 
him  when  he  made  his  first  dazed  comment:  "If  that  isn't 
Eileen,  and  true  to  the  life!" 

"I  must  take  that  down,"  said  Linda.  "I  did  it  one 
night  when  my  heart  was  full  of  bitterness." 

"Better  leave  it,"  said  Peter  drily. 

"Do  you  think  I  need  it  as  a  warning?"  asked  Linda. 

Peter  turned  and  surveyed  her  slowly. 

"Linda,"  he  said  quietly,  "what  I  think  of  you  has  not 
yet  been  written  in  any  of  the  books." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BUENA   MOZA 

A  SOON  as  Peter  had  left  her  Linda  took  her  box 
of  candy  flowers  and  several  of  her  finest  roses 
and  went  to  Katy's  room.  She  found  Katy  in  a 
big  rocking  chair,  her  feet  on  a  hassock,  reading  a  story  in 
Everybody's  Home.  When  her  door  opened  and  she  saw 
her  young  mistress  framed  in  it  she  tossed  the  magazine 
aside  and  sprang  to  her  feet,  but  Linda  made  her  resume 
her  seat.  The  girl  shortened  the  stems  of  the  roses  and 
put  them  in  a  vase  on  Katy's  dresser. 

"They  may  clash  with  your  colouring  a  mite,  Mother 
Machree,"  she  said,  "but  by  themselves  they  are  very 
wonderful  things,  aren't  they?" 

Linda  went  over,  and  drawing  her  dress  aside,  sat 
down  on  the  hassock  and  leaning  against  Katy's  knee  she 
held  up  the  box  of  candy  flowers  for  amazed  and  delighted 
inspection. 

"Ah,  the  foine  gintleman!"  cried  Katy.  "Sure  'twas 
only  a  pape  I  had  when  ye  opened  the  box,  an'  I  didn't 
know  how  rare  them  beauties  railly  was." 

"Choose  the  one  you  like  best,"    said  Linda. 

But  Katy  would  not  touch  the  delicate  things,  so 

330 


BUENA  MOZA  331 

Linda  selected  a  blushy  hollyhock  for  her  and  then  sat  at 
her  knee  again. 

"Katherine  O'Donovan,"  she  said  solemnly,  "it's  up  to 
a  couple  of  young  things  such  as  we  are,  stranded  on  the 
shoals  of  the  Pacific  as  we  have  been,  to  put  our  heads 
together  and  take  counsel.  You're  a  host,  Katy,  and 
while  I  am  taking  care  of  you,  I'll  be  just  delighted  to 
have  you  go  on  looking  after  your  black  sheep;  but  it's 
going  to  be  lonely,  for  all  that.  After  Eileen  has  taken 
her  personal  possessions,  what  do  you  say  to  fixing  up 
that  room  with  the  belongings  that  Marian  kept,  and  in 
viting  her  to  make  that  suite  her  home  until  such  time  as 
she  may  have  a  home  of  her  own  again?" 

"  Foine ! "  cried  Katy.  "  I'd  love  to  be  havin'  her.  I'd 
agree  to  take  orders  from  Miss  Marian  and  to  be  takin' 
care  of  her  jist  almost  the  same  as  I  do  of  ye,  Miss  Linda. 
The  one  thing  I  don't  like  about  it  is  that  it  ain't  fair  nor 
right  to  give  aven  Marian  the  best.  Ye  be  takin'  that 
suite  yourself,  lambie,  and  give  Miss  Marian  your  room 
all  fixed  up  with  her  things,  or,  if  ye  want  her  nearer,  give 
her  the  guest  room  and  make  a  guest  room  of  yours." 

"I  am  willing  to  follow  either  of  the  latter  suggestions 
for  myself,"  said  Linda;  "it  might  be  pleasant  to  be  across 
the  hall  from  Marian  where  we  could  call  back  and 
forth  to  each  other.  I  wouldn't  mind  a  change  as  soon  as 
I  have  time  to  get  what  I'd  need  to  make  the  change.  I'll 
take  the  guest  room  for  mine,  and  you  may  call  in  a  deco 
rator  and  have  my  room  freshly  done  and  the  guest  things 
moved  into  it." 


332  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Katy  looked  belligerent.  Linda  reached  up  and  touched 
the  frowning  lines  on  her  forehead. 

"Brighten  your  lovely  features  with  a  smile,  Katherine 
me  dear/'  she  said  gaily.  " Don't  be  forgetting  that  this 
is  our  Day  of  Jubilee.  We  are  free — I  hope  we  are  free 
for  ever — from  petty  annoyances  and  dissatisfactions 
and  little,  galling  things  that  sear  the  soul  and  bring  out 
all  the  worst  in  human  nature.  I  couldn't  do  anything  to 
Eileen's  suite,  not  even  if  I  resorted  to  tearing  out  par 
titions  and  making  it  new  from  start  to  finish,  that  would 
eliminate  Eileen  from  it  for  me.  If  Marian  will  give  me 
permission  to  move  and  instal  her  things  in  it,  I  think  she 
can  use  it  without  any  such  feeling,  but  I  couldn't.  It's 
agreed  then,  Katy,  I  am  to  write  to  Marian  and  extend  to 
her  a  welcome  on  your  part  as  well  as  on  mine?" 

"That  ye  may,  lambie,"  said  Katy  heartily.  "And,  as 
the  boss  used  to  be  sayin',  just  to  make  assurance  doubly 
sure,  if  you  would  address  it  for  me  I  would  be  writin'  a 
bit  of  a  line  meself,  conveyin'  to  her  me  sentiments  on  the 
subject." 

"Oh,  fine,  Katy;  Marian  would  be  delighted!"  cried 
Linda,  springing  up. 

"And,  Katy  dear,  it  won't  make  us  feel  any  more  like 
mourning  for  Eileen  when  I  tell  you  that  it  developed  at 
the  bank  yesterday  and  to-day,  that  since  she  has  been 
managing  household  affairs  she  has  deposited  in  a  separate 
account  all  the  royalties  from  Father's  books.  I  had 
thought  the  matter  closed  at  the  bank  when  this  fund  was 
added  to  the  remainder  of  the  estate,  the  household  ex- 


BUENA  MOZA  333 

penses  set  aside  to  Eileen,  and  the  remainder  divided 
equally  between  us.  I  didn't  get  the  proof  that  she  was 
not  my  sister  until  after  I  came  home.  I  think  it  means 
that  I  shall  have  to  go  back  to  the  bank,  have  the  matter 
reopened,  and  unless  she  can  produce  a  will  or  something 
proving  that  she  is  entitled  to  it,  it  seems  to  me  that  what 
remains  of  my  father's  estate  is  legally  mine.  Of  course, 
if  it  develops  that  he  has  made  any  special  provision  for 
her,  she  shall  have  it;  otherwise,  Katy,  we'll  be  in  a  posi 
tion  to  instal  you  as  housekeeper  and  put  some  light- 
footed,  capable  young  person  under  you  for  a  step-saver  in 
any  direction  you  want  to  use  her.  It  means,  too,  that  I 
shall  be  able  to  repay  your  loan  immediately  and  to  do  the 
things  that  I  wanted  to  do  about  the  house." 

"Now  I  ain't  in  any  hurry  about  that  money,  lambie," 
said  Katy;  "and  you  understand  of  course  that  the  dress 
you're  wearin'  I  am  givin'  ye." 

"Of  course,  old  dear,  and  you  should  have  seen  Peter 
Morrison  light  up  and  admire  it.  He  thinks  you  have 
wonderful  taste,  Katy." 

Katy  threw  up  both  her  hands. 

"Oh,  my  Lord,  lambie!"  she  cried,  aghast.  "Was  you 
tellin'  him  that  the  dress  ye  were  wearin'  was  a  prisent 
from  your  old  cook  ? " 

"Why,  certainly  I  was,"  said  Linda,  wide  eyed  with 
astonishment.  "Why  shouldn't  I?  I  was  proud  to. 
And  now,  old  dear,  before  I  go,  the  biggest  secret  of  all. 
I  had  a  letter,  Katy,  from  the  editor  of  Everybody's  Home, 
and  people  like  our  articles,  Katy;  they  are  something 


334  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

new  and  folk  are  letting  the  editor  know  about  it,  and  he 
wants  all  I  can  send  him.  He  likes  the  pictures  I  make; 
and,  Katy,  you  won't  believe  it  till  I  show  you  my  little 
bank  book,  but  for  the  three  already  published  with  their 
illustrations  he  pays  me  five  hundred  nice,  long,  smooth, 
beautifully  decorated,  paper  dollars ! '" 

u  Judas  praste!"  cried  Katy,  her  hands  once  more  aloft. 
"Ye  ain't  manin'  it,  lambie?" 

"Yes,  I  are,"  laughed  Linda.  "I've  got  the  money;  and 
for  each  succeeding  three  with  their  pictures  I  am  to  have 
that  much  more,  and  when  I  finish — now  steady  yourself, 
Katy,  because  this  is  going  to  be  a  shock — when  I  finish, 
blessed  old  dear  heart,  he  is  going  to  make  them  into  a 
book!  That  will  be  my  job  for  this  summer,  and  you  shall 
help  me,  and  it  will  be  a  part  of  our  great  secret.  Won't 
it  be  the  most  fun?'' 

"My  soul!"  said  Katy.  "You're  jist  crazy.  I  don't 
belave  a  word  you're  tellin'  me.'' 

"But  I  can  prove  it,  because  I  have  the  letter  and  the 
bank  book,''  said  Linda. 

Katy  threw  her  arms  around  the  girl  and  kissed  the  top 
of  her  head  and  cried  over  her  and  laughed  at  the  same 
time  and  patted  her  and  petted  her  and  ended  by  saying: 
"Oh,  lambie,  if  only  the  master  could  be  knowin'  it.'' 

"But  he  does  know,  Katy,"  said  Linda. 

She  went  to  her  room,  removed  the  beautiful  dress  and, 
arranging  it  on  a  hanger,  left  it  in  her  closet.  Slipping 
into  an  old  dressing  gown,  she  ran  to  her  workroom  and 
wrote  a  letter  to  Marian  from  herself.  She  tried  not  to 


BUENA  MOZA  355 

tell  Marian  the  big,  vital  thing  that  was  throbbing  in  her 
heart  all  day  concerning  her  work,  the  great  secret  that 
meant  such  a  wonderful  thing  to  her,  the  thing  that  was 
beating  in  her  heart  and  fluttering  behind  her  lips  like  a 
bird  trying  to  escape  its  cage;  but  she  could  tell  her  in  de 
tail  of  Eileen's  undoubted  removal  to  San  Francisco;  she 
could  tell  her  enough  of  the  financial  transactions  of  the 
day  to  make  her  understand  what  had  been  happening  in 
the  past;  and  she  could  tell  of  her  latest  interview  with 
John  Oilman.  Once,  as  she  sat  with  her  pen  poised,  think 
ing  how  to  phrase  a  sentence,  Linda  said  to  herself:  "I 
wonder  in  my  heart  if  he  won't  try  to  come  crawfishing  back 
to  Marian  now,  and  if  he  does,  I  wonder,  oh,  how  I  wonder, 
what  she  will  do."  Linda  shut  her  lips  very  tight  and 
stared  up  through  her  skylight  to  the  stars,  as  she  was  fast 
falling  into  a  habit  of  doing  when  she  wanted  inspiration. 
"Well,  I  know  one  thing/'''  she  said  to  the  shining  things 
above  her,  "Marian  will  do  as  she  sees  fit,  of  course,  but  if 
it  were  I,  and  any  man  had  discarded  me  as  John  Gilmarr 
discarded  Marian,  in  case  he  ever  wanted  to  pick  me  up 
again  he  would  find  I  was  not  there.  Much  as  I  plan 
in  my  heart  for  the  home  and  the  man  and  the  little 
people  that  I  hope  to  have  some  day,  I  would  give  up  all  of 
them  before  I  would  be  discarded  and  re-sought  like  that; 
and  knowing  Marian  as  I  do,  I  have  a  conviction  that  she 
will  feel  the  same  way.  From  the  things  she  is  writing 
about  this  Snow  man  I  think  it  is  highly  probable  that  he 
may  awake  some  day  to  learn  that  he  is  not  so  deeply 
grieved  but  that  he  would  like  to  have  Marian  to  com- 


336  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

fort  him  in  his  loneliness;  and  as  for  his  little  girl  I  don't 
see  where  he  could  find  a  woman  who  would  rear  her  more 
judiciously  and  beautifully  than  Marian  would." 

She  finished  her  letter,  sealed  and  stamped  it,  and  then, 
taking  out  a  fresh  sheet,  she  lettered  in  at  the  top  of  it, 
"INDIAN  POTATOES"  and  continued: 

And  very  good  potatoes  they  are.  You  will  find  these  growing 
everywhere  throughout  California,  blooming  from  May  to  July, 
their  six  long,  slender,  white  petals  shading  to  gold  at  the  base, 
grayish  on  the  outside,  a  pollen-laden  pistil  upstanding,  eight  or 
ten  gold-clubbed  stamens  surrounding  it,  the  slender  brown 
stem  bearing  a  dozen  or  more  of  these  delicate  blooms,  spring 
ing  high  from  a  base  of  leaves  sometimes  nearly  two  feet  long 
and  an  inch  broad,  wave  margined,  spreading  in  a  circle 
around  it.  In  the  soil  of  the  plains  and  the  dry  hillsides  you 
will  find  an  amazingly  large  solid  bulb,  thickly  enwrapped  in  a 
coat  of  brown  fibre,  the  long  threads  of  which  can  be  braided, 
their  amazing  strength  making  them  suitable  for  bow  strings, 
lariats,  or  rope  of  any  kind  that  must  needs  be  improvised  for 
use  at  the  moment.  The  bulbs  themselves  have  many  uses. 
Crushed  and  rubbed  up  in  water  they  make  a  delightful  cleansing 
lather.  The  extracted  juice,  when  cooked  down,  may  be  used  as 
glue.  Of  the  roasted  bulbs  effective  poultices  for  bruises  and 
boils  may  be  made.  It  was  an  Indian  custom  to  dam  a  small 
stream  and  throw  in  mashed  Amole  bulbs,  the  effect  of  which 
was  to  stupefy  the  fish  so  that  they  could  be  picked  out  by  hand; 
all  of  which  does  not  make  it  appear  that  the  same  bulb  would 
serve  as  an  excellent  substitute  for  a  baked  potato;  but  we  must 
remember  how  our  grandmothers  made  starch  from  our  potatoes, 
oised  them  to  break  in  the  new  ironware,  and  to  purify  the  lard; 
which  goes  to  prove  that  one  vegetable  may  be  valuable  for 
cnany  purposes.  Amole,  whose  ponderous  scientific  name  is 


BUENA  MOZA  337 

Chlorogalum  pomeridianum,  is  at  its  best  for  my  purposes  when  all 
the  chlorophyll  from  flower  and  stem  has  been  driven  back  to 
the  bulb,  and  it  lies  ripe  and  fully  matured  from  late  August  until 
December. 

Remove  the  fibrous  cover  down  to  the  second  or  third  layer 
enclosing  the  bulb.  These  jackets  are  necessary  as  they  keep 
the  bulbs  from  drying  out  and  having  a  hard  crust.  Roast 
them  exactly  as  you  would  potatoes.  When  they  can  easily  be 
pierced  with  a  silver  folk  remove  from  the  oven,  and  serve  im 
mediately  with  any  course  with  which  you  would  use  baked 
potatoes. 

"And  gee,  but  they're  good!"  commented  Linda  as  she 
re-read  what  she  had  written. 

After  that  she  turned  her  attention  to  drawing  a  hillside 
whitened  here  and  there  with  amole  bloom  showing  in  its 
purity  against  the  warm  grayish-tan  background.  The 
waving  green  leaves  ran  among  big  rocks  and  overlapped 
surrounding  growth.  At  the  right  of  her  drawing  Linda 
sketched  in  a  fine  specimen  of  monkey  flower,  deepening 
the  yellow  from  the  hearts  of  the  amole  lilies  for  the  almost 
human  little  monkey  faces.  On  the  left  one  giant  speci 
men  of  amole,  reared  from  a  base  of  exquisitely  waving 
leaves,  ran  up  the  side  of  the  drawing  and  broke  into  an 
airy  and  graceful  head  of  gold-hearted  white  lilies.  For  a 
long  time  Linda  sat  with  poised  pencil,  studying  her  fore 
ground.  What  should  she  introduce  that  would  be  most 
typical  of  the  location  and  give  her  the  desired  splash  of 
contrasting  colour  that  she  used  as  a  distinctive  touch  in 
the  foreground  of  all  her  drawings? 

Her  pencil  flew  busily  a  few  minutes  while  she  sketched 


338  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

in  a  flatly  growing  bush  of  prickly  phlox,  setting  the  flower 
faces  as  closely  as  the  overlapped  scales  of  a  fish,  setting 
them  even  as  they  grow  in  nature;  and  when  she  resorted 
to  the  colour  box  she  painted  these  faces  a  wonderful  pink 
that  was  not  wild  rose,  not  cerise,  not  lilac,  but  it  made 
one  think  of  all  of  them.  When  she  could  make  no 
further  improvement  on  this  sketch,  she  carefully  stretched 
it  against  the  wall  and  tacked  it  up  to  dry. 

Afterward  she  cleared  her  mental  decks  of  all  the  work 
she  could  think  of  in  order  to  have  Saturday  free,  because 
Saturday  was  the  day  upon  which  she  found  herself  plan 
ning  in  the  back  of  her  mind  throughout  the  strenuous 
week,  to  save  for  riding  the  King's  Highway  with  Donald 
Whiting.  Several  times  she  had  met  him  on  the  walks  or 
in  the  hallways,  and  always  he  had  stopped  to  speak  with 
her  and  several  times  he  had  referred  to  the  high  hope  in 
which  he  waited  for  Saturday.  Linda  already  had  held  a 
consultation  with  Katy  on  the  subject  of  the  lunch  basket. 
That  matter  being  satisfactorily  arranged,  there  was  noth 
ing  for  her  to  do  but  to  double  on  her  work  so  that  Satur 
day  would  be  free.  Friday  evening  Linda  was  called  from 
the  dinner  table  to  the  telephone.  She  immediately  recog 
nized  the  voice  inquiring  for  her  as  that  of  Judge  Whiting, 
and  then  she  listened  breathlessly  while  he  said  to  her: 
"You  will  recognize  that  there  is  very  little  I  may  say  over 
a  telephone  concerning  a  matter  to  which  you  brought  my 
attention.  I  have  a  very  competent  man  looking  into  the 
matter  thoroughly,  and  I  find  that  your  fear  is  amply  jus 
tified.  Wherever  you  go  or  whatever  you  do,  use  particu- 


BUENA  MOZA  339 

lar  care.  Don't  have  anything  to  do  with  any  stranger. 
Just  use  what  your  judgment  and  common  sense  tell  you 
is  a  reasonable  degree  of  caution  in  every  direction,  no 
matter  how  trivial.  You  understand?" 

"I  do,"  said  Linda  promptly.  "Would  you  prefer  that 
we  do  not  go  on  any  more  Saturday  trips  at  present?" 

The  length  of  time  that  the  Judge  waited  to  answer 
proved  that  he  had  taken  time  to  think. 

"I  can't  see,"  he  said  finally,  "that  you  would  not  be 
safer  on  such  a  trip  where  you  are  moving  about,  where 
no  one  knows  who  you  are,  than  you  would  where  you  are 
commonly  found." 

"All  right  then,"  said  Linda.  "Ask  the  party  we  are 
considering  and  he  will  tell  you  where  he  will  be  to-morrow. 
Thank  you  very  much  for  letting  me  know.  If  anything 
should  occur,  you  will  understand  that  it  was  something 
quite  out  of  my  range  of  foresight." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  Judge. 

With  all  care  and  many  loving  admonitions  Katy  assisted 
in  the  start  made  early  Saturday  morning.  The  previous 
Saturday  Linda  had  felt  that  all  nature  along  the  road  she 
planned  to  drive  would  be  at  its  best,  but  they  had  not 
gone  far  until  she  modified  her  decision.  They  were  slip 
ping  through  mists  of  early  morning,  over  level,  carefully 
made  roads  like  pavilion  floors.  If  any  one  objection 
could  have  been  made,  it  would  have  been  that  the  mists 
of  night  were  weighting  too  heavily  to  earth  the  perfume 
from  the  blooming  orchards  and  millions  of  flowers  in 
gardens  and  along  the  roadside.  At  that  hour  there 


340  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

were  few  cars  abroad.  Linda  was  dressed  in  her  outing 
suit  of  dark  green.  She  had  removed  her  hat  and  slipped 
it  on  the  seat  beside  her.  She  looked  at  Donald,  a  whim 
sical  expression  on  her  most  expressive  young  face. 

"Please  to  'scuse  me/'  she  said  lightly,  "if  I  step  on  the 
gas  a  mite  while  we  have  the  road  so  much  to  ourselves  and 
are  so  familiar  with  it.  Later,  when  we  reach  stranger 
country  and  have  to  share  with  others,  we'll  be  forced  to 
go  slower." 

"Don't  stint  your  speed  on  account  of  me,"  said  Donald. 
"I  am  just  itching  to  know  what  Kitty  can  do." 

"All  right,  here's  your  chance,"  said  Linda.  "Hear  her 
purr?" 

She  settled  her  body  a  trifle  tensely,  squared  her  should 
ers,  and  gripped  the  steering  wheel.  Then  she  increased 
the  gas  and  let  the  Bear-cat  roll  over  the  smooth  road  from 
Lilac  Valley  running  south  into  Los  Angeles.  At  a  speed 
that  was  near  to  flying  as  a  non-professional  attains,  the 
youngsters  travelled  that  road.  Their  eyes  were  shining; 
their  blood  was  racing.  Until  the  point  where  rougher 
roads  and  approaching  traffic  forced  them  to  go  slower, 
they  raced,  and  when  they  slowed  down  they  looked  at 
each  other  and  laughed  in  morning  delight. 

"I  may  not  be  very  wise,"  said  Linda,  "but  didn't  I  do 
the  smartest  thing  when  I  let  Eileen  have  the  touring  car 
and  saved  the  Bear-cat  for  us?" 

"Nothing  short  of  inspiration,"  said  Donald.  "The 
height  of  my  ambition  is  to  own  a  Bear-cat.  If  Father 
makes  any  mention  of  anything  I  would  like  particularly 


BUENA  MOZA  341 

to  have  for  a  graduation  present,  I  am  cocked  and  primed 
as  to  what  I  shall  tell  him." 

"You'd  better  save  yourself  a  disappointment,"  said 
Linda  soberly.  "You  will  be  starting  to  college  this  fall, 
and  when  you  do  you  will  be  gone  nine  months  out  of  the 
year,  and  I  am  fairly  sure  your  father  wouldn't  think  ship 
ping  a  Bear-cat  back  and  forth  a  good  investment,  or  fur 
nishing  you  one  to  take  to  school  with  you.  He  would 
fear  you  would  never  make  a  grade  that  would  be  a  credit 
to  him  if  he  did." 

"My!"  laughed  Donald,  "youVe  got  a  long  head  on 
your  shoulders!" 

"When  you're  thrown  on  your  own  for  four  of  the  long 
est,  lonesomest  years  of  your  life,  you  learn  to  think,"  said 
Linda  soberly. 

She  was  touching  the  beginning  of  Los  Angeles  traffic. 
Later  she  was  on  the  open  road  again.  The  mists  were 
thinning  and  lifting.  The  perfume  was  not  so  heavy. 
The  sheeted  whiteness  of  the  orange  groves  was  broken 
with  the  paler  white  of  plum  merging  imperceptibly  into 
the  delicate  pink  of  apricot  and  the  stronger  pink  of  peach, 
and  there  were  deep  green  orchards  of  smooth  waxen  olive 
foliage  and  the  lacy-leaved  walnuts.  Then  came  the 
citrus  orchards  again,  and  all  the  way  on  either  hand  run 
ning  with  them  were  almost  uninterrupted  miles  of  roses 
of  every  colour  and  kind,  and  everywhere  homes  ranging 
from  friendly  mansions,  all  written  over  in  adorable  flower 
colour  with  the  happy  invitation  "Come  in  and  make  your 
self  at  home,"  to  tiny  bungalows  along  the  wayside  crying 


342  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

welcome  to  this  gay  pair  of  youngsters  in  greetings  fash 
ioned  from  white  and  purple  wisteria,  gold  bignonia,  every 
rose  the  world  knows,  and  myriad  brilliant  annual  and 
perennial  flower  faces  gathered  from  the  circumference  of 
the  tropical  globe  and  homing  enthusiastically  on  the 
King's  Highway.  Sometimes  Linda  lifted  her  hand  from 
the  wheel  to  wave  a  passing  salute  to  a  particularly  appeal 
ing  flower  picture.  Sometimes  she  whistled  a  note  or  cried 
a  greeting  to  a  mocking  bird,  a  rosy  finch,  or  a  song  spar 
row. 

"Look  at  the  pie  timber!"  she  cried  to  Donald,  calling 
his  attention  to  a  lawn  almost  covered  with  red-winged 
blackbirds.  "Four  hundred  and  twenty  might  be  baked 
in  that  pie,"  she  laughed. 

Then  a  subtle  change  began  to  creep  over  the  world. 
The  sun  peered  over  the  mountains  inquiringly,  a  timid 
young  thing,  as  if  she  were  asking  what  degree  of  light  and 
warmth  they  would  like  for  the  day.  A  new  brilliancy 
tinged  every  flower  face  in  this  light,  a  throbbing  ecstasy 
mellowed  every  bird  note;  the  orchards  dropped  farther 
apart,  meadows  filled  with  grazing  cattle  flashed  past 
them,  the  earthy  scent  of  freshly  turned  fields  mingled 
with  flower  perfume,  and  on  their  right  came  drifting  in  a 
cool  salt  breath  from  the  sea.  At  mid-forenoon,  as  they 
neared  Laguna,  they  ran  past  great  hills,  untouched  since 
the  days  when  David  cried:  "I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto 
the  hills  from  whence  cometh  my  help."  At  one  particu 
larly  beautiful  range,  draped  with  the  flowing  emerald  of 
spring,  decorated  with  beds  of  gold  poppy,  set  with  flower- 


BUENA  MOZA  343 

ing  madrona  and  manzanita,  with  the  gold  of  yellow  mon 
key  flower  or  the  rich  red  of  the  related  species,  with  speci 
mens  of  lupin  growing  in  small  trees,  here  and  there 
adventurous  streams  singing  and  flashing  their  unexpected 
way  to  the  mother  breast  of  the  waiting  ocean  very  near 
to  the  road  which  at  one  surprising  turn  carried  them  to 
the  never-ending  wonder  of  the  troubled  sea,  they  drove  as 
slowly  as  the  Bear-cat  would  consent  to  travel,  so  that  they 
might  study  great  boulders,  huge  as  many  of  the  buildings 
they  had  passed,  their  faces  scarred  by  the  wrack  of  ages. 
Studying  their  ancient  records  one  could  see  that  they  had 
been  familiar  with  the  star  that  rested  over  Bethlehem. 
On  their  faces  had  shone  the  same  moon  that  opened  the 
highways  journeying  into  Damascus.  They  had  stood  the 
storms  that  had  beaten  upon  the  world  since  the  days  when 
the  floods  subsided,  the  land  lifted  above  the  face  of  the 
waters  in  gigantic  upheavals  that  had  ripped  the  surface  of 
the  globe  from  north  to  south  and  forced  up  the  hills,  the 
foothills,  and  the  mountains  of  the  Coast  Range.  They 
had  been  born  then,  they  had  first  seen  the  light  of  day, 
in  glowing,  molten,  red-hot,  high-piled  streams  of  lava 
that  had  gushed  forth  in  that  awful  evolution  of  birth. 

Sometimes  Linda  stopped  the  car,  they  left  it,  and 
climbed  over  the  faces  of  these  mighty  upheavals.  Once 
Linda  reached  her  hand  to  Donald  and  cried,  half  laugh 
ingly,  half  in  tense  earnest:  "Oh,  kid,  we  have  got  to  hurry. 
Compared  with  the  age  of  these,  we've  only  a  few  minutes. 
It's  all  right  to  talk  jestingly  about  'the  crack  of  doom1 
but  you  know  there  really  was  a  crack  of  doom,  and  right 


344  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

here  is  where  it  cracked  and  spewed  out  the  material  that 
hardened  into  these  very  rocks.  Beside  them  I  feel  as  a 
shrimp  must  feel  beside  a  whale,  and  I  feel  that  we  must 
hurry." 

"And  so  we  must,"  said  Donald.  "I'm  hungry  as 
Lucullus  when  he  waited  for  them  to  find  enough  peacock 
tongues  to  satisfy  his  appetite." 

"I  wonder  what  brand  of  home-brew  made  him  think  of 
that,"  said  Linda. 

"Well,  you  know,"  said  Donald,  "the  world  was  only  a 
smallish  place  then.  They  didn't  have  to  go  far  to  find 
everything  to  which  they  had  access,  and  it  must  have  been 
rather  a  decent  time  in  which  to  live.  Awful  lot  of  light 
and  colour  and  music  and  unique  entertainment." 

"You're  talking,"  said  Linda,  "from  the  standpoint  of 
the  king  or  the  master.  Suppose  you  had  lived  then  and 
had  been  the  slave." 

"There  you  go  again,"  said  Donald,  "throwing  a  brick 
into  the  most  delicate  mechanism  of  my  profound  thought. 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  round  me  up  with  something 
scientific  and  materialistic  every  time  I  go  a-glimmering. 
Don't  you  think  this  would  be  a  fine  place  to  have  lunch?" 

"You  wait  and  see  where  we  lunch  to-day,  and  you  will 
have  the  answer  to  that,"  said  Linda,  starting  back  to  the 
Bear-cat. 

A  few  miles  farther  on  they  followed  the  road  around  the 
frowning  menace  of  an  overhanging  rock  and  sped  out 
directly  to  the  panorama  of  the  sea.  The  sun  was  shining 
on  it,  but,  as  always  round  the  Laguna  shore,  the  rip  tide 


BUENA  MOZA  345 

was  working  itself  into  undue  fury.  It  came  dashing  up 
on  the  ancient  rocks  until  one  could  easily  understand 
why  a  poet  of  long  ago  wrote  of  sea  horses.  Some  of  the 
waves  did  suggest  monstrous  white  chargers  racing  madly 
to  place  their  feet  upon  the  solid  rock. 

Through  the  village,  up  the  steep  inclines,  past  placid 
lakes,  past  waving  yellow  mustard  beds,  beside  highways 
where  the  breast-plate  of  Mother  Earth  gleamed  emerald 
and  ruby  against  the  background  of  billions  of  tiny,  shin 
ing  diamonds  of  the  iceplant,  past  the  old  ostrich  tree 
reproduced  by  etchers  of  note  the  world  over,  with  grinding 
brakes,  sliding  down  the  breathless  declivity  leading  to 
the  shore,  Linda  stopped  at  last  where  the  rock  walls 
lifted  sheer  almost  to  the  sky.  She  led  Donald  to  a  huge 
circle  carpeted  with  cerise  sand  verbena,  with  pink  and 
yellow  iceplant  bloom,  with  jewelled  Jceplant  foliage,  with 
the  running  blue  of  the  lovely  sea  daisy,  with  the  white  and 
pink  of  the  sea  fig,  where  the  walls  were  festooned  with 
ferns,  lichens,  studded  all  over  with  flaming  Our  Lord's 
Candles,  and  strange,  uncanny,  grotesque  flower  forms,  al 
most  human  in  their  writhing  turns  as  they  twisted  around 
the  rocks  and  slipped  along  clinging  to  the  sheer  walls. 
Just  where  the  vegetation  met  the  white,  sea-washed  sand, 
Linda  spread  the  Indian  blanket,  and  Donald  brought  the 
lunch  box.  At  their  feet  adventurous  waves  tore  them 
selves  to  foam  on  the  sharp  rocks.  On  their  left  they 
broke  in  booming  spray,  tearing  and  fretting  the  base  of 
cliffs  that  had  stood  impregnable  through  aeons  of  such 
ceaseless  attack  and  repulse. 


346  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"I  wonder,"  said  Donald,  "how  it  comes  that  I  have 
lived  all  my  life  in  California,  and  to-day  it  seems  to  me 
that  most  of  the  worth-while  things  I  know  about  her  I 
owe  to  you.  When  I  go  to  college  this  winter  the  things 
I  shall  be  telling  the  boys  will  be  how  I  could  gain  a  living, 
if  I  had  to,  on  the  desert,  in  Death  Valley,  from  the  walls 
of  Multiflores  Canyon;  and  how  the  waves  go  to  smash  on 
the  rocks  of  Laguna,  not  to  mention  cactus  fish  hooks, 
mescal  sticks,  and  brigand  beefsteak.  It's  no  wonder  the 
artists  of  all  the  world  come  here  copying  these  pictures. 
It's  no  wonder  they  build  these  bungalows  and  live  here  for 
years,  unsatisfied  with  their  efforts  to  reproduce  the  pic 
tures  of  the  Master  Painter  of  them  all." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Linda,  "if  anybody  is  very  easily 
satisfied.  I  wonder  to-day  if  Eileen  is  satisfied  with  being 
merely  rich.  I  wonder  if  we  are  satisfied  to  have  this 
golden  day  together.  I  wonder  if  the  white  swallows  are 
satisfied  with  the  sea.  I  wonder  if  those  rocks  are  satisfied 
and  proud  to  stand  impregnable  against  the  constant  tor 
ment  of  the  tide." 

"I  wonder,  oh,  Lord,  how  I  wonder,"  broke  in  Donald, 
"about  Katherine  O'Donovan's  lunch  box.  If  you  want  a 
picture  of  perfect  satisfaction,  Belinda  beloved,  lead 
me  to  it!" 

"Thank  heaven  you're  mistaken,"  she  said;  "they 
spared  me  the  'Be' — .  It's  truly  just  'Linda." 

"Well,  I'm  not  sparing  you  the  'Be — ',"  said  Donald, 
busy  with  the  fastenings  of  the  lunch  basket.  "Did  you 
hear  where  I  used  it  ? " 


BUENA  MOZA  347 

"Yes,  child,  and  I  like  it  heaps,"  said  Linda  casuaHy. 
"It's  fine  to  have  you  like  me.  Awfully  proud  of  my 
self." 

"You  have  two  members  of  our  family  at  your  feet," 
said  Donald  soberly  as  he  handed  her  packages  from  the 
box.  "My  dad  is  beginning  to  discourse  on  you  with  such 
signs  of  intelligence  that  I  am  almost  led  to  believe,  from 
some  of  his  wildest  outbursts,  that  he  has  had  some  per 
sonal  experience  in  some  way." 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Linda  lightly.  "Haven't  I 
often  told  you  that  my  father  constantly  went  on  fishing 
and  hunting  trips,  that  he  was  a  great  collector  of  botanical 
specimens,  that  he  frequently  took  his  friends  with  him? 
You  might  ask  your  father  if  he  does  not  recall  me  as 
having  fried  fish  and  made  coffee  and  rendered  him  camp 
service  when  I  was  a  slip  of  a  thing  in  the  dawn  of  my 


teens." 


"Well,  he  didn't  just  mention  it,"  said  Donald,  "but 
I  can  easily  see  how  it  might  have  been." 

After  they  had  finished  one  of  Katy's  inspired 
lunches,  in  which  a  large  part  of  the  inspiration  had  been 
mental  on  Linda's  part  and  executive  on  Katy's,  they 
climbed  rock  faces,  skirted  wave-beaten  promontories, 
and  stood  peering  from  overhanging  cliffs  dipping  down 
into  the  fathomless  green  sea,  where  the  water  boiled  up 
in  turbulent  fury.  Linda  pointed  out  the  rocks  upon 
which  she  would  sit,  if  she  were  a  mermaid,  to  comb  the 
seaweed  from  her  hair.  She  could  hear  the  sea  bells  ring 
ing  in  those  menacing  depths,  but  Donald's  ears  were  not 


348  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

so  finely  tuned.  At  the  top  of  one  of  the  highest  cliffs 
they  climbed,  there  grew  a  clump  of  slender  pale  green 
bushes,  towering  high  above  their  heads  with  exquisitely 
cut  blue-green  leaves,  lance  shaped  and  slender.  Donald 
looked  at  the  fascinating  growth  appraisingly. 

"Linda,"  he  said,  "do  you  know  that  the  slimness  and 
the  sheerness  and  the  audacious  foothold  and  the  beauty 
of  that  thing  remind  me  of  you  ?  It  is  covered  all  over 
with  the  delicate  frost-bloom  you  taught  me  to  see  upon 
fruit.  I  find  it  everywhere  but  you  have  never  told  me 
what  it  is." 

Linda  laughingly  reached  up  and  broke  a  spray  of 
greenish-yellow  tubular  flowers,  curving  out  like  clus 
tered  trumpets  spilling  melody  from  their  fluted  throats. 

"You  will  see  it  everywhere.  You  will  find  these  flow 
ers  every  month  of  the  year,"  she  said,  "and  I  am  particu 
larly  gladsome  that  this  plant  reminds  you  of  me.  I  love 
the  bluish-green  'bloom'  of  its  sheer  foliage.  I  love  the 
music  these  flower  trumpets  make  to  me.  I  love  the  way 
it  has  travelled,  God  knows  how,  all  the  way  from  the 
Argentine  and  spread  itself  over  our  country  wherever  it  is 
allowed  footing.  I  am  glad  that  there  is  soothing  in  these 
dried  leaves  for  those  who  require  it.  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  set  my  seal  on  you  with  it.  There  are  two  little  Spanish 
words  that  it  suggests  to  the  Mexican — Buena  moza — 
but  you  shall  find  out  for  yourself  what  they  mean." 

Encountering  his  father  that  night  at  his  library  door, 
Donald  Whiting  said  to  him:  "May  I  come  in,  Dad?  I 


BUENA  MOZA  349 

have  something  I  must  look  up  before  I  sleep.  Have 
you  a  Spanish  lexicon,  or  no  doubt  you  have  this  in  your 
head." 

"Well,  I've  a  halting  vocabulary,"  said  the  Judge. 
"What's  your  phrase?" 

"Linda  put  this  flower  on  me  to-day,"  said  Donald, 
"and  she  said  she  was  pleased  because  I  said  the  tall, 
slender  bush  it  grew  on  reminded  me  of  her.  She  gave 
me  the  Spanish  name,  but  I  don't  know  the  exact  signifi 
cance  of  the  decoration  I  am  wearing  until  I  learn  the 
meaning  of  the  phrase." 

"Try  me  on  it,"  said  the  Judge. 

"'Buena  moza,'"  quoted  Donald. 

The  Judge  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  heartily. 

"Son,"  he  said,  "you  should  know  that  from  the  Latin 
you're  learning.  You  should  translate  it  instinctively.  I 
couldn't  tell  you  exactly  whether  a  Spaniard  would  trans 
late  * Buena  'fine'  or  'good.'  Knowing  their  high-falutin' 
rendition  of  almost  everything  else  I  would  take  my  chance 
on  'fine.'  Son,  your  phrase  means  'a  fine  girl.' ': 

Donald  looked  down  at  the  flower  in  his  buttonhole, 
and  then  he  looked  straight  at  his  father. 

"And  only  the  Lord  knows,  Dad,"  he  said  soberly, 
""exactly  how  fine  Linda-girl  is." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  MOUSE  NEST 

LINDA  DEAREST: 

I  am  delighted  that  you  had  such  a  wonderful  birthday.  I 
would  take  a  shot  in  air  that  anything  you  don't  understand 
about  it  you  might  with  reasonable  safety  charge  to  Katherine 
O'Donovan.  I  think  it  was  great  of  her  to  have  a  suitable  and 
a  becoming  dress  waiting  for  you  and  a  congenial  man  like  Peter 
Morrison  to  dine  with  you.  He  appealed  to  me  as  being  a  rare 
character,  highly  original,  and,  I  should  think,  to  those  who 
know  him  well  he  must  be  entertaining  and  lovable  in  the 
extreme.  I  never  shall  be  worried  about  you  so  long  as  I  know 
that  he  is  taking  care  of  you. 

I  should  not  be  surprised  if  some  day  I  meet  Eileen  some 
where,  because  Dana  and  I  are  going  about  more  than  you 
would  believe  possible.  I  heartily  join  with  you  in  wishing  her 
every  good  that  life  can  bring  her.  I  don't  want  to  be  pessi 
mistic,  but  I  can't  help  feeling,  Linda,  that  she  is  taking  a  poor 
way  to  win  the  best,  and  I  gravely  doubt  whether  she  finds  it  in 
the  spending  of  unlimited  quantities  of  the  money  of  a  coarse 
man  who  stumbled  upon  his  riches  accidentally,  as  has  many 
a  man  of  California  and  Colorado. 

I  intended,  when  I  sat  down  to  write,  the  very  first  thing  I 
said,  to  thank  you  for  your  wonderful  invitation,  seconded  so 
loyally  and  cordially  by  Katy,  to  make  my  home  with  you  until 
the  time  comes — if  it  ever  does  come — when  I  shall  have  a  home 
of  my  own  again.  And  just  as  simply  and  whole-heartedly  as 

350 


A  MOUSE  NEST  351 

you  made  the  offer,  I  accept  it.  I  am  enclosing  the  address  and 
the  receipt  for  my  furniture  in  storage,  and  a  few  lines  order 
ing  it  delivered  at  your  house  and  the  bill  sent  to  me.  I  only 
kept  a  few  heirlooms  and  things  of  Mother's  and  Father's  that 
are  very  precious  to  me.  Whenever  Eileen  takes  her  things  you 
can  order  mine  in  and  let  me  know,  and  I'll  take  a  day  or  two  off 
and  run  down  for  a  short  visit. 

Mentioning  Eileen  makes  me  think  of  John.  I  think  of  him 
more  frequently  than  I  intend  or  wish  that  I  did,  but  I  feel  my 
ninth  life  is  now  permanently  extinguished  concerning  him.  I 
thought  I  detected  in  your  letter,  Linda  dear,  a  hint  of  fear 
that  he  might  come  back  to  me  and  that  I  might  welcome  him. 
If  you  have  any  such  feeling  in  your  heart,  abandon  it,  child, 
because,  while  I  try  not  to  talk  about  myself,  I  do  want  to  say 
that  I  rejoice  in  a  family  inheritance  of  legitimate  pride.  I 
couldn't  give  the  finest  loyalty  and  comradeship  I  had  to  give 
to  a  man,  have  it  returned  disdainfully,  and  then  furbish  up  the 
pieces  and  present  it  over  again.  If  I  can  patch  those  same 
pieces  and  so  polish  and  refine  them  that  I  can  make  them,  in 
the  old  phrase,  "as  good  as  new,"  possibly  in  time 

But,  Linda,  one  thing  is  certain  as  the  hills  of  morning.  Never 
in  my  life  will  any  man  make  any  headway  with  me  again  with 
vague  suggestions  and  innuendoes  and  hints.  If  ever  any  man 
wants  to  be  anything  in  my  life,  he  will  speak  plainly  and  say 
what  he  wants  and  thinks  and  hopes  and  intends  and  feels  in 
not  more  than  two-syllable  English.  I  learned  my  lesson  about 
the  futility  of  building  your  house  of  dreams  on  a  foundation 
of  sand.  Next  time  I  erect  a  dream  house,  it  is  going  to  have  a 
proper  foundation  of  solid  granite.  And  that  may  seem  a  queer 
thing  for  me  to  say  when  you  know  that  I  am  getting  the  joy  in 
my  life,  that  I  do  not  hesitate  to  admit  I  am,  from  letters 
written  by  a  man  whose  name  I  don't  know.  It  may  be  that  I 
don't  know  the  man,  but  I  certainly  am  very  well  acquainted 
with  him,  and  in  some  way  he  seems  to  me  to  be  taking  on  more 


352  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

definite  form.     I  should  not  be  surprised  if  I  were  to  recognize 
him  the  first  time  I  met  him  face  to  face. 


Linda  looked  through  the  skylight  and  cried  out  to  the 
stars:  "Good  heavens!  Have  I  copied  Peter  too  closely?" 

She  sat  thinking  a  minute  and  then  she  decided  she 
had  not. 

And  in  this  connection  you  will  want  to  know  how  I  am  pro 
gressing  in  my  friendship  with  the  junior  partner,  and  what  kind 
of  motorist  I  am  making.  I  am  still  driving  twice  a  week,  and 
lately  on  Sundays  in  a  larger  car,  taking  Dana  and  a  newspaper 
friend  of  hers  along.  I  think  I  have  driven  every  hazard  that 
this  part  of  California  affords  except  the  mountains;  Mr.  Snow  is 
still  merciful  about  them. 

Linda  dear,  I  know  what  you're  dying  to  know.  You  want  to 
know  whether  Mr.  Snow  is  in  the  same  depths  of  mourning  as 
when  our  acquaintance  first  began.  This,  my  dear  child,  is 
very  reprehensible  of  you.  Young  girls  with  braids  down  their 
backs — and  by  the  way,  Linda,  you  did  not  tell  me  what  hap 
pened  "  after  the  ball  was  over."  Did  you  go  to  school  the  next 
morning  with  braids  down  your  back,  or  wearing  your  coronet? 
Because  on  that  depends  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  now;  if 
you  went  with  braids,  you're  still  my  little  girl  chum,  the  cleanest, 
finest  kid  I  have  ever  known;  but  if  you  wore  your  coronet,  then 
you're  a  woman  and  my  equal  and  my  dearest  friend,  far  dearer 
than  Dana  even;  and  I  tell  you  this,  Linda,  because  I  want  you 
always  to  understand  that  you  come  first. 

I  have  tried  and  tried  to  visualize  you,  and  can't  satisfy  my 
mind  as  to  whether  the  braids  are  up  or  down.  Going  on  the 
assumption  that  they  are  up,  and  that  life  may  in  the  near  future 
begin  to  hold  some  interesting  experiences  for  you,  I  will  tell  you 
this,  beloved  child:  I  don't  think  Mr.  Snow  is  mourning  quite 


A  MOUSE  NEST  353 

so  deeply  as  he  was.  I  have  not  been  asked,  the  last  four  or 
five  trips  we  have  been  on,  to  carry  an  armload  of  exquisite 
flowers  to  the  shrine  of  a  departed  love.  I  have  been  privileged 
to  take  them  home  and  arrange  them  in  my  room  and  Dana's. 
And  I  haven't  heard  so  much  talk  about  loneliness,  and  I  haven't 
seen  such  tired,  sad  eyes.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  familiar  pair  of 
shoulders  are  squaring  up  to  the  world  again,  and  a  very  kind  pair 
of  eyes  are  brighter  with  interest.  I  don't  know  how  you  feel 
about  this;  I  don't  know  how  I  feel  about  it  myself.  I  am  sure 
that  Eugene  Snow  is  a  man  who,  in  the  years  to  come,  would 
line  up  beside  your  father  and  mine,  and  I  like  him  immensely. 
It  is  merely  a  case  of  not  liking  him  less,  but  of  liking  my  un 
known  man  more.  I  couldn't  quite  commit  the  sacrilege,  Linda 
dear,  of  sending  you  a  sample  of  the  letters  I  am  receiving,  but 
they  are  too  fanciful  and  charming  for  any  words  of  mine  to 
describe  adequately.  I  don't  know  who  this  man  is,  or  what  he 
has  to  offer,  or  whether  he  intends  to  offer  anything,  but  it  is  a 
ridiculous  fact,  Linda,  that  I  would  rather  sit  with  him  in  a  chim 
ney  corner  of  field  boulders,  on  a  pine  floor,  with  a  palm  roof  and 
an  Ocotillo  candle,  than  to  glow  in  the  parchment-shielded  elec 
tric  light  of  the  halls  of  a  rich  man.  In  a  recent  letter,  Linda, 
there  was  a  reference  to  a  woman  who  wore  "  a  diadem  of  crystal 
lized  light."  It  was  a  beautiful  thing  and  I  could  not  help  tak 
ing  it  personally.  It  was  his  way  of  telling  me  that  he  knew  me, 
and  knew  my  tragedy;  and,  as  I  said  before,  I  am  beginning  to 
feel  that  I  have  him  rather  definitely  located;  and  I  can  under 
stand  the  fine  strain  in  him  that  prompted  his  anonymity,  and 
his  reasons  for  it.  Of  course  I  am  not  sufficiently  confident  yet  to 
say  anything  definite,  but  my  heart  is  beginning  to  say  things 
that  I  sincerely  hope  my  lips  never  will  be  forced  to  deny. 

Linda  laid  down  the  letter,  folded  her  hands  across  it, 
and  once  more  looked  at  the  stars. 


354  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Good  gracious!"  she  said.  "I  am  tincturing  those 
letters  with  too  much  Peter.  I'll  have  to  tone  down  a 
bit.  Next  thing  I  know  she  will  be  losing  her  chance 
with  that  wonderful  Snow  man  for  a  dream.  In  my  efforts 
to  comfort  her  I  must  have  gone  too  far.  It  is  all  right 
to  write  a  gushy  love  letter  and  stuff  it  full  of  Peter's 
whimsical  nonsense,  but,  in  the  language  of  the  poet, 
how  am  I  going  to  'deliver  the  goods'?  Of  course  that 
talk  about  Louise  Whiting  was  all  well  enough.  Equally, 
of  course,  I  outlined  and  planted  the  brook  and  designed  the 
bridge  for  Marian,  whether  she  knows  it  or  Peter  knows  it, 
or  not.  If  they  don't  know  it,  it's  about  time  they  were 
finding  it  out.  I  think  it's  my  job  to  visit  Peter  more  fre 
quently  and  see  if  I  can't  invent  some  way  to  make  him 
see  the  light.  I  will  give  Katy  a  hint  in  the  morning, 
To-morrow  evening  I'll  go  up  and  have  supper  with  him 
and  see  if  he  has  another  article  in  the  stewpan.  I  like 
this  work  with  Peter.  I  like  having  him  make  me  dream 
dreams  and  see  pictures.  I  like  the  punch  and  the  virility 
he  puts  into  my  drawings.  It's  all  right  reproducing 
monkey  flowers  and  lilies  for  pastime,  but  for  serious  busi 
ness,  for  real  life  work,  I  would  rather  do  Peter's  brain- 
storming,  heart-thrilling  pictures  than  my  merely  pretty 
ones.  On  the  subject  of  Peter,  I  must  remember  in  the 
morning  to  take  those  old  books  he  gave  me  to  Donald. 
I  believe  that  from  one  of  them  he  is  going  to  get  the  very 
material  he  needs  to  down  the  Jap  in  philosophy.  And 
they  are  not  text  books,  which  proves  that  Peter  must 
have  been  digging  into  the  subject  and  hunted  them  up  in 


A  MOUSE  NEST  355 

some  second-hand  store,  or  even  sent  away  an  order  for 
them." 

In  the  hall  the  next  morning  Linda  stopped  Donald  and 
gave  him  the  books.  In  the  early  stages  of  their  friend 
ship  she  had  looked  at  him  under  half-closed  lids  and 
waited  to  see  whether  he  intended  stopping  to  say  a  word 
with  her  when  they  passed  each  other  or  came  down  the 
halls  together.  She  knew  that  their  acquaintance  would 
be  noted  and  commented  upon,  and  she  knew  how  ready 
the  other  girls  would  be  to  say  that  she  was  bold  and  for 
ward,  so  she  was  careful  to  let  Donald  make  the  advances, 
until  he  had  called  to  her  so  often,  and  had  dug  flowers 
and  left  his  friends  waiting  at  her  door  while  he  delivered 
them,  that  she  felt  free  to  address  him  as  she  chose.  He 
had  shown  any  interested  person  in  the  High  School  that 
he  was  her  friend,  that  he  was  speaking  to  her  exactly  as 
he  did  to  girls  he  had  known  from  childhood.  He  was  very 
popular  among  the  boys  and  girls  of  his  class  and  the  whole 
school.  His  friendship,  coming  at  the  time  of  Linda's 
rebellion  on  the  subject  of  clothes,  had  developed  a  tend 
ency  to  bring  her  other  friendships.  Boys  who  never  had 
known  she  was  in  existence  followed  Donald's  example 
in  stopping  her  to  say  a  word  now  and  then.  Girls  who 
had  politely  ignored  her  now  found  things  to  say;  and 
several  invitations  she  had  not  had  leisure  to  accept  had 
been  sent  to  her  for  afternoon  and  evening  entertain 
ments  among  the  young  people.  Linda  had  laid  out  for 
herself  something  of  a  task  in  deciding  to  be  the  mental 
leader  of  her  class.  There  were  good  brains  in  plenty 


356  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

among  the  other  pupils.  It  was  only  by  work,  con 
centration,  and  purpose,  only  by  having  a  mind  keenly 
alert,  by  independent  investigation  and  introducing  new 
points  of  view  that  she  could  hold  her  prestige.  Up  to  the 
receipt  of  her  letter  containing  the  offer  to  publish  her 
book  she  had  been  able  rigorously  to  exclude  from  her 
mind  the  personality  and  the  undertakings  of  Jane  Mere 
dith.  She  was  Linda  Strong  in  the  High  School  and  for 
an  hour  or  two  at  her  studies.  She  was  Jane  Meredith 
over  the  desert,  through  the  canyons,  beside  the  sea,  in  her 
Multiflores  kitchen  or  in  Katherine  O'Donovan's.  But 
this  book  offer  opened  a  new  train  of  thought,  a  new  series 
of  plans.  She  could  see  her  way — thanks  to  her  father  she 
had  the  material  in  her  mind  and  the  art  in  her  finger  tips 
— to  materialize  what  she  felt  would  be  even  more  attract 
ive  in  book  form  than  anything  her  editor  had  been  able 
to  visualize  from  her  material.  She  knew  herself,  she  knew 
her  territory  so  minutely.  Frequently  she  smiled  when  she 
read  statements  in  her  botanies  as  to  where  plants  and 
vegetables  could  be  found.  She  knew  the  high  home  of 
the  rare  and  precious  snow  plant.  She  knew  the  northern 
limit  of  the  strawberry  cactus.  She  knew  where  the  white 
sea  swallow  nested.  She  knew  where  the  Monarch  butter 
fly  went  on  his  winter  migration.  She  knew  where  the 
trap-door  spider,  with  cunning  past  the  cunning  of  any 
other  architect  of  Nature,  built  his  small,  round,  silken- 
lined  tower  and  hinged  his  trap  door  so  cleverly  that  only 
he  could  open  it  from  the  outside.  She  had  even  sat 
immovable  and  watched  him  erect  his  house,  and  she 


A  MOUSE  NEST  357 

would    have    given    much  to   see    him   weave    its   silver 
lining. 

Linda  was  fast  coming  to  the  place  where  she  felt  herself 
to  be  one  in  an  interested  group  of  fellow  workers.  She 
no  longer  gave  a  thought  to  what  kind  of  shoes  she  wore. 
Other  girls  were  beginning  to  wear  the  same  kind.  The 
legislatures  of  half  a  dozen  states  were  passing  laws  regu 
lating  the  height  of  heel  which  might  be  worn  within  their 
boundaries.  Manufacturers  were  promising  for  the  coming 
season  that  suitable  shoes  would  be  built  for  street  wear 
and  mountain  climbing,  for  the  sands  of  the  sea  and  the 
sands  of  the  desert,  and  the  sheer  face  of  canyons.  The 
extremely  long,  dirt-sweeping  skirts  were  coming  up;  the 
extremely  short,  immodest  skirts  were  coming  down. 
A  sane  and  sensible  wave  seemed  to  be  sweeping  the  whole 
country.  Under  the  impetus  of  Donald  Whiting's  strug 
gles  to  lead  his  classes  and  those  of  other  pupils  to  lead 
theirs,  a  higher  grade  of  scholarship  was  beginning  to  be 
developed  throughout  the  High  School.  Pupils  were 
thinking  less  of  what  they  wore  and  how  much  amusement 
they  could  crowd  in,  and  more  about  making  grades  that 
would  pass  them  with  credit  from  year  to  year.  The  hor 
rors  of  the  war  and  the  disorders  following  it  had  begun 
to  impress  upon  the  young  brains  growing  into  maturity 
the  idea  that  soon  it  would  be  their  task  to  take  over  the 
problems  that  were  now  vexing  the  world's  greatest  states 
men  and  its  wisest  and  most  courageous  women.  A  tend 
ency  was  manifesting  itself  among  young  people  to  equip 
themselves  to  take  a  worthy  part  in  the  struggles  yet  to 


358  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

come.  Classmates  who  had  looked  with  toleration  upon 
Linda's  common-sense  shoes  and  plain  dresses  because 
she  was  her  father's  daughter,  now  looked  upon  her  with 
respect  and  appreciation  because  she  started  so  many 
interesting  subjects  for  discussion,  because  she  was  so 
rapidly  developing  into  a  creature  well  worth  looking  at. 
Always  she  would  be  unusual  because  of  her  extreme 
height,  her  narrow  eyes,  her  vivid  colouring.  But  a 
greater  maturity,  a  fuller  figure,  had  come  to  be  a  part  of 
the  vision  with  wrhich  one  looked  at  Linda.  In  these 
days  no  one  saw  her  as  she  was.  Even  her  schoolmates 
had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  seeing  her  as  she  would  be 
in  the  years  to  come. 

Thus  far  she  had  been  able  to  keep  her  identities  apart 
without  any  difficulty;  but  the  book  proposition  was  so 
unexpected,  it  was  such  a  big  thing  to  result  from  her 
modest  beginning,  that  Linda  realized  that  she  must 
proceed  very  carefully,  she  must  concentrate  with  all  her 
might,  else  her  school  work  would  begin  to  suffer  in  favour 
of  the  book.  Recently  so  many  things  had  arisen  to  dis-. 
tract  her  attention.  Many  days  she  had  not  been  able 
to  keep  Eileen's  face  off  her  geometry  papers;  and  again 
she  saw  Oilman's,  anxious  and  pain-filled.  Sometimes 
she  found  herself  lifting  her  eyes  from  tasks  upon  which 
she  was  concentrating  with  all  her  might,  and  with  no 
previous  thought  whatever  she  was  searching  for  Donald 
Whiting,  and  when  she  saw  him,  coming  into  muscular 
and  healthful  manhood,  she  returned  to  her  work  with 
more  strength,  deeper  vision,  a  quiet,  assured  feeling 


A  MOUSE  NEST  359 

around  her  heart.  Sometimes,  over  the  edge  of  Litera 
ture  and  Ancient  History,  Peter  Morrison  looked  down 
at  her  with  gravely  questioning  eyes  and  dancing  imps 
twisting  his  mouth  muscles,  and  Linda  paused  a  second  to 
figure  upon  what  had  become  an  old  problem  with  her. 
Why  did  her  wild-flower  garden  make  Peter  Morrison  think 
of  a  graveyard  ?  What  was  buried  there  besides  the  feet  of 
her  rare  flowers?  She  had  not  as  yet  found  the  answer. 

This  day  her  thoughts  were  on  Peter  frequently  because 
she  intended  to  see  him  that  night.  She  was  going  to 
share  with  him  a  supper  of  baked  ham  and  beans  and 
bread  and  butter  and  pickled  onions  and  little  nut  cakes,, 
still  warm  from  Katy's  oven.  She  was  going  to  take  Katy 
with  her  in  order  that  she  might  see  Peter  Morrison's 
location  and  the  house  for  his  dream  lady,  growing  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain  like  a  gay  orchid  homing  on  a 
forest  tree.  To  Linda  it  was  almost  a  miracle,  the 
rapidity  with  which  a  house  could  be  erected  in  Cali 
fornia.  In  a  few  weeks'  time  she  had  seen  a  big  cellar 
scooped  out  of  the  plateau,  had  seen  it  lined  and  rising  to 
foundation  height  above  the  surface  in  solid  concrete, 
faced  outside  with  cracked  boulders.  She  had  seen  a 
framework  erected,  a  rooftree  set,  and  joists  and  rafters 
and  beams  swinging  into  place.  Fretworks  of  lead  and 
iron  pipe  were  running  everywhere,  and  wires  for  elec-, 
tricity.  Soon  shingles  and  flooring  would  be  going  into 
place,  and  Peter  said  that  when  he  had  finished  acrobatic 
performances  on  beams  and  girders  and  really  stepped  out 
on  solid  floors  where  he  might  tread  without  fear  of  break- 


360  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ing  any  of  his  legs,  he  would  perform  a  Peacock  Dance  all 
by  himself. 

"Peter,  you  sound  like  a  centipede,"  said  Linda. 

"Dear  child,"  said  Peter,  "when  I  enter  my  front  dcor 
and  get  to  the  back  on  two-inch  footing,  I  positively 
feel  that  I  have  numerous  legs,  and  I  ache  almost  as  badly 
in  the  fear  that  I  shall  break  the  two  I  have,  as  I  should  ii 
they  were  really  broken." 

And  then  he  added  a  few  words  on  a  subject  of  which  he 
had  not  before  spoken  to  Linda. 

"It  was  like  that  in  France.  When  we  really  got  into 
the  heat  of  things  and  the  work  was  actually  being  done> 
we  were  not  afraid :  we  were  too  busy;  we  were  *  supermen.'* 
The  time  when  we  were  all  legs  and  arms  and  head,  and 
all  of  them  were  being  blown  away  wholesale  was  when 
the  shells  whined  over  while  we  had  a  rest  hour  and  were 
trying  to  sleep,  or  in  the  cold,  dim  dawn  when  we 
stumbled  out  stiff,  hungry,  and  sleepy.  It's  not  the  real 
thing  when  it's  really  occurring  that  gets  one.  It's  the 
devils  of  imagination  tormenting  the  soul.  There  is  only 
one  thing  in  this  world  can  happen  to  me  that  is  really 
going  to  be  as  bad  as  the  things  I  dream." 

Linda  looked  down  Lilac  Valley,  her  eyes  absently  fo 
cusing  on  Katy  busily  setting  supper  on  a  store  box  in 
front  of  the  garage.  Then  she  looked  at  Peter. 

"Mind  telling?"  she  inquired  lightly. 

Peter  looked  at  her  speculatively. 

"And  would  a  man  be  telling  his  hearth  best  secret  to  a 
kid  like  you?"  he  asked. 


A  MOUSE  NEST  361 

"Now,  I  call  that  downright  mean,"  said  Linda. 
"Haven't  you  noticed  that  my  braids  are  up  ?  Don't  you 
see  a  maturity  and  a  dignity  and  a  general  matronliness 
apparent  all  over  me  to-day?" 

"Matronliness"  was  too  much  for  Peter.  You  could 
have  heard  his  laugh  far  down  the  blue  valley. 

"That's  good!  "he  cried. 

"It  is,"  agreed  Linda.  "It  means  that  my  braids  are 
up  to  stay,  so  hereafter  I'm  a  real  woman." 

She  lingered  over  the  word  an  instant,  glancing  whimsi 
cally  at  Peter,  a  trace  of  a  smile  on  her  lips,  then  she 
made  her  way  down  a  slant  declivity  and  presently  re 
turned  with  an  entire  flower  plant,  new  to  Peter  and  of 
unusual  beauty. 

"And  because  I  am  a  woman,  I  shall  set  my  seal  upon 
you,"  she  said. 

In  the  buttonhole  of  his  light  linen  coat  she  placed  a 
flower  of  satin  face  of  purest  gold,  the  five  petals  rounded, 
but  sharply  tipped,  a  heavy  mass  of  silk  stamens,  pollen 
dusted  in  the  heart.  She  pushed  back  the  left  side  of  his 
coat  and  taking  one  of  the  rough,  hairy  leaves  of  the 
plant  she  located  it  over  Peter's  heart,  her  slim,  deft 
fingers  patting  down  the  leaf  and  flattening  it  out  until  it 
lay  pasted  smooth  and  tight.  As  she  worked,  she  smiled 
at  him  challengingly.  Peter  knew  he  was  experiencing 
a  ceremony  of  some  kind,  the  significance  of  which  he 
must  learn.  It  was  the  first  time  Linda  had  voluntarily 
touched  him.  He  breathed  lightly  and  held  steady,  lest  he 
startle  her. 


362  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Lovely  enough,"  he  said,  "to  have  come  from  the  hills 
of  the  stars.  Don't  make  me  wait,  Linda;  help  me  to 
the  interpretation." 

" Buena  Mujer,"  suggested  Linda. 

"Good  woman,"  translated  Peter. 

Linda  nodded,  running  a  finger  down  the  leaf  over  his 
heart. 

"  Because  she  sticks  close  to  you,"  she  explained.  Then 
startled  by  the  look  in  Peter's  eyes,  she  cried  in  swift  change : 
"Now  we  are  all  going  to  work  for  a  minute.  Katy's 
spreading  the  lunch.  You  take  this  pail  and  go  to  the 
spring  for  water,  and  I  shall  tidy  your  quarters  for  you." 

With  the  eye  of  experience  Linda  glanced  over  the 
garage,  deciding  that  she  must  ask  for  clean  sheets  for  the 
cot  and  that  the  Salvation  Army  would  like  the  heap  of 
papers.  Studying  the  writing  table  she  heard  a  faint 
sound  that  untrained  ears  would  have  missed. 

"Ah,  ha,  Ma  wood  mouse,"  said  Linda,  "nibbling 
Peter's  drygoods  are  you?" 

Her  cry  a  minute  later  answered  the  question.  She 
came  from  the  garage  upon  Katherine  O'  Donovan  rushing 
to  meet  her,  holding  a  man's  coat  at  the  length  of  her  far- 
reaching  arm. 

"I  wish  you'd  look  at  that  pocket.  I  don't  know  how 
long  this  coat  has  been  hanging  there,  but  there  is  a  nest 
of  field  mice  in  it,"  she  said. 

Katy  promptly  retreated  to  the  improvised  dining  table, 
seated  herself  upon  an  end  of  it,  and  raised  both  feet 
straight  into  the  air. 


A  MOUSE  NEST  363 

"Small  help  I'll  be  getting  from  you,"  said  Linda  laugh 
ingly. 

She  went  to  the  edge  of  the  declivity  that  cut  back  to 
the  garage  and  with  a  quick  movement  reversed  the  coat^ 
catching  it  by  the  skirts  and  shaking  it  vigorously. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  STRAIGHT  AND  NARROW 

THIS   served  exactly  the  purpose  Linda  had  in 
tended.     It  dislodged  the  mouse  nest  and  dropped 
it  three  feet  below  her  level,  but  it  did  something 
else  upon  which  Linda  had  no  time  to  count.     It  emptied 
every  pocket  in  the  coat  and  sent  the  contents  scattering 
down  the  rough  declivity. 

"Oh  my  gracious!"  gasped  Linda.  "Look  what  I  have 
done!  Katy,  come  help  me  quickly;  I  have  to  gather  up 
this  stuff;  but  it's  no  use;  I'll  have  to  take  it  to  Peter  and 
tell  him.  I  couldn't  put  these  things  back  in  the  pock 
ets  where  his  hand  will  reach  for  them,  because  I  don't 
know  which  came  from  inside  and  which  came  from  out." 
Linda  sprang  down  and  began  hastily  gathering  up 
everything  she  could  see  that  had  fallen  from  the  coat 
pockets.  She  had  almost  finished  when  her  fingers 
chanced  upon  a  very  soiled,  befigured  piece  of  paper 
whose  impressed  folds  showed  that  it  had  been  carried 
for  some  time  in  an  inner  pocket.  As  her  fingers  touched 
this  paper  her  eyes  narrowed,  her  breath  came  in  a  gasp 
She  looked  at  it  a  second,  irresolute,  then  she  glanced 
over  the  top  of  the  declivity  in  the  direction  Peter  had 
taken.  He  was  standing  in  front  of  the  building,  discuss- 

364 


THE  STRAIGHT  AND  NARROW          365 

ing  some  matter  with  the  contractor.  He  had  not  yet 
gone  to  the  spring.  Shielded  by  the  embankment,  with 
shaking  fingers  Linda  opened  the  paper  barely  enough 
to  see  that  it  was  Marian's  lost  sheet  of  plans;  but  it  was 
not  as  Marian  had  left  it.  It  was  scored  deeply  here  and 
there  with  heavy  lines  suggestive  of  alterations,  and  the 
margin  was  fairly  covered  with  fine  figuring.  Linda  did 
not  know  Peter  Morrison's  writing  or  figures.  His  arti 
cles  had  been  typewritten  and  she  had  never  seen  his 
handwriting.  She  sat  down  suddenly  on  account  of 
weakened  knees,  and  gazed  unseeingly  down  the  length 
of  Lilac  Valley,  her  heart  sick,  her  brain  tormented.  Sud 
denly  she  turned  and  studied  the  house. 

"Before  the  Lord!"  she  gasped.  "I  thought  there  was 
something  mighty  familiar  even  about  the  skeleton  of 
you!  Oh,  Peter,  Peter,  where  did  you  get  this,  and  how 
could  you  do  it?" 

For  a  while  a  mist  blurred  her  eyes.  She  reached  for 
the  coat  and  started  to  replace  the  things  she  had 
gathered  up,  then  she  shut  her  lips  tight. 

"Best  time  to  pull  a  tooth,"  she  said  tersely  to  a  terra 
cotta  red  manzanita  bush,  "is  when  it  aches." 

When  Peter  returned  from  the  spring  he  was  faced  by  a 
trembling  girl,  colourless  and  trying  hard  to  keep  her  voice 
steady.  She  held  out  the  coat  to  him  with  one  hand,  the 
package  of  papers  with  the  other,  the  folded  drawing 
conspicuous  on  the  top.  With  these  she  gestured  toward 
the  declivity. 

"Mouse  nest  in  your  pocket,  Peter,"  she  said  thickly. 


366  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Reversed  the  coat  to  shake  it  out,  and  spilled  your 
stuff." 

Then  she  waited  for  Peter  to  be  confounded.  But  Peter 
was  not  in  the  faintest  degree  troubled  about  either  the  coat 
or  the  papers.  What  did  trouble  him  was  the  face  and 
the  blazing  eyes  of  the  girl  concerning  whom  he  would  not 
admit,  even  to  himself,  his  exact  state  of  feeling. 

"The  mouse  did  not  get  on  you,  Linda?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

Linda  shook  her  head.  Suddenly  she  lost  her  self- 
control. 

"Oh,  Peter,"  she  wailed,  "how  could  you  do  it?" 

Peter's  lean  frame  tensed  suddenly. 

"I  don't  understand,  Linda,"  he  said  quietly.  "Ex 
actly  what  have  I  done?" 

Linda  thrust  the  coat  and  the  papers  toward  him 
accusingly  and  stood  there  wordless  but  with  visible  pain 
in  her  dark  eyes.  Peter  smiled  at  her  reassuringly. 

"That's  not  my  coat,  you  know.  If  there  is  anything 
distressing  about  it,  don't  lay  it  to  me." 

"Oh,  Peter!"  cried  Linda,  "tell  the  truth  about  it. 
Don't  try  any  evasions.  I  am  so  sick  of  them." 

A  rather  queer  light  sprang  into  Peter's  eyes.  He 
leaned  forward  suddenly  and  caught  the  coat  from  Linda's 
fingers. 

"Well,  if  you  need  an  alibi  concerning  this  coat,"  he  said, 
"  I  think  I  can  furnish  it  speedily." 

As  he  talked  he  whirled  the  garment  a-round  and  shot 
his  long  arms  into  the  sleeves.  Shaking  it  into  place  on 


THE  STRAIGHT  AND  NARROW          367 

his  shoulders,  he  slowly  turned  in  front  of  Linda  and  the 
surprised  Katy.  The  sleeves  came  halfway  to  his  wrists 
and  the  shoulders  slid  down  over  his  upper  arms.  He 
made  such  a  quaint  and  ridiculous  figure  that  Katy  burst 
out  laughing.  She  was  very  well  trained,  but  she  knew 
Linda  was  deeply  distressed. 

"Wake  up,  lambie!"  she  cried  sharply.  "That  coat 
ain't  belonging  to  Mr.  Pater  Morrison.  That  gairment 
is  the  property  of  that  bug-catchin'  architect  of  his." 

Peter  shook  off  the  coat  and  handed  it  back  to  Linda. 

"Am  I  acquitted  ?"  he  asked  lightly;  but  his  surprised 
eyes  were  searching  her  from  braid  to  toe. 

Linda  turned  from  him  swiftry.  She  thrust  the  packet 
into  a  side  pocket  and  started  to  the  garage  with  the  coat. 
As  she  passed  inside  she  slipped  down  her  hand,  slid  the 
sheet  of  plans  from  the  other  papers,  and  slipped  it  into 
the  front  of  her  blouse.  She  hung  the  coat  back  where 
she  had  found  it,  then  suddenly  sat  down  on  the  side 
of  Peter  Morrison's  couch,  white  and  shaken.  Peter 
thought  he  heard  a  peculiar  gasp  and  when  he  strayed  past 
the  door,  casually  glancing  inward,  he  saw  what  he  saw, 
and  it  brought  him  to  his  knees  beside  Linda  with  all 
speed. 

"Linda-girl,"  he  implored,  "what  in  this  world  has 
happened?" 

Linda  struggled  to  control  her  voice;  but  at  last  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  frankly  emitted  a  sound 
that  she  herself  would  have  described  as  "howling."  Peter 
knelt  back  in  wonder. 


368  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Of  all  the  things  I  ever  thought  about  you,  Linda,"  he 
said,  "the  one  thing  I  never  did  think  was  that  you  were 
hysterical/' 

If  there  was  one  word  in  Linda's  vocabulary  more 
opprobrious  than  "nerves,"  which  could  be  applied  to  a 
woman,  it  was  "hysterics."  The  great  specialist  had. 
admitted  nerves;  hysterics  had  no  standing  with  him. 
Linda  herself  had  no  more  use  for  a  hysterical  woman 
than  she  had  for  a  Gila  monster.  She  straightened  sud 
denly,  and  in  removing  her  hands  from  her  face  she  laid 
one  on  each  of  Peter's  shoulders. 

"Oh,  Peter,"  she  wailed,  "I  am  not  a  hysterical  idiot, 
but  I  couldn't  have  stood  it  if  that  coat  had  been  yours. 
Peter,  I  just  couldn't  have  borne  it!" 

Peter  held  himself  rigidly  in  the  fear  that  he  might  dis 
turb  the  hands  that  were  gripping  him. 

"I  see  I  have  the  job  of  educating  these  damned  field 
mice  as  to  where  they  may  build  with  impunity,"  he  said 
soberly. 

But  Linda  was  not  to  be  diverted.  She  looked  straight 
and  deep  into  his  eyes. 

"Peter,"  she  said  affirmatively,  "you  don't  know  a 
thing  about  that  coat,  do  you?" 

"I  do  not,"  said  Peter  promptly. 

"You  never  saw  what  was  in  its  pockets,  did  you?" 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,"  answered  Peter.  "What  was 
in  the  pockets,  Linda  ? " 

Linda  thought  swiftly.  Peter  adored  his  dream  house. 
If  she  told  him  that  the  plans  for  it  had  been  stolen  by  hi* 


THE  STRAIGHT  AND  NARROW          369 

architect,  the  house  would  be  ruined  for  Peter.  Any  one 
could  see  from  the  candour  of  his  gaze  and  the  lines  that 
God  and  experience  had  graven  on  his  face  that  Peter 
was  without  guile.  Suddenly  Linda  shot  her  hands  past 
Peter's  shoulders  and  brought  them  together  on  the  back 
of  his  neck.  She  drew  his  face  against  hers  and  cried :  "Oh 
Peter,  I  would  have  been  killed  if  that  coat  had  been  yours. 
I  tell  you  I  couldn't  have  endured  it,  Peter.  I  am  just 
tickled  to  death!" 

One  instant  she  hugged  him  tight.  If  her  lips  did 
not  brush  his  cheek,  Peter  deluded  himself.  Then  she 
sprang  up  and  ran  from  the  garage.  Later  he  took  the 
coat  from  its  nail,  the  papers  from  its  pockets,  and  carefully 
looked  them  over.  There  was  nothing  among  them  that 
would  give  him  the  slightest  clue  to  Linda's  conduct.  He 
looked  again,  penetratingly,  searchingly,  for  he  must 
learn  from  them  a  reason;  and  no  reason  was  apparent. 
With  the  coat  in  one  hand  and  the  papers  in  the  other  he 
stepped  outside. 

"Linda,"  he  said,  "won't  you  show  me?  Won't  you 
tell  me?  What  is  there  about  this  to  upset  you?" 

Linda  closed  her  lips  and  shook  her  head.  Once  more 
Peter  sought  in  her  face,  in  her  attitude  the  information 
he  craved. 

"Needn't  tell  me,"  he  said,  "that  a  girl  who  will  face  the 
desert  and  the  mountains  and  the  canyons  and  the  sea  is, 
upset  by  a  mouse." 

"Well,  you  should  have  seen  Katy  sitting  in  the  midst 
of  our  supper  with  her  feet  rigidly  extended  before  her!'* 


370  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

cried  the  girl,  struggling  to  regain  her  composure.  "Put 
back  that  coat  and  come  to  your  supper.  It's  time  for 
you  to  be  fed  now.  The  last  workman  has  gone  and 
we'll  barely  have  time  to  finish  nicely  and  show  Katy 
your  dream  house  before  it's  time  to  go." 

Peter  came  and  sat  in  the  place  Linda  indicated.  His 
mind  was  whirling.  There  was  something  he  did  not 
understand,  but  in  her  own  time,  in  her  own  way,  a  girl  of 
Linda's  poise  and  self-possession  would  tell  him  what  had 
occurred  that  could  be  responsible  for  the  very  peculiar 
things  she  had  done.  In  some  way  she  had  experienced 
a  shock  too  great  for  her  usual  self-possession.  The  hands 
with  which  she  fished  pickled  onions  from  the  bottle  were 
still  unsteady,  and  the  corroboration  Peter  needed  for  his 
thoughts  could  be  found  in  the  dazed  way  in  which  Katy 
watched  Linda  as  she  hovered  over  her  in  serving  her. 
But  that  was  not  the  time.  By  and  by  the  time  would 
come.  The  thing  to  do  was  to  trust  Linda  and  await  its 
coming.  So  Peter  called  on  all  the  reserve  wit  and  wisdom 
he  had  at  command.  He  jested,  told  stories,  and  to 
Linda's  satisfaction  and  Katy's  delight,  he  ate  his  supper 
like  a  hungry  man,  frankly  enjoying  it,  and  when  the 
meal  was  finished  Peter  took  Katy  over  the  house,  ex 
plaining  to  her  as  much  detail  as  was  possible  at  that 
stage  of  its  construction,  while  Linda  followed  with  mute 
lips  and  rebellion  surging  in  her  heart.  When  leaving 
time  came,  while  Katy  packed  the  Bear-cat,  Linda  wan 
dered  across  toward  the  spring,  and  Peter,  feeling  that 
possibly  she  might  wish  to  speak  with  him,  followed  her. 


THE  STRAIGHT  AND  NARROW          371 

When  he  overtook  her  she  looked  at  him  straightly,  her 
eyes  showing  the  hurt  her  heart  felt. 

"Peter,"  she  said,  "that  first  night  you  had  dinner  with 
us,  was  Henry  Anderson  out  of  your  presence  one  minute 
from  the  time  you  came  into  the  house  until  you  left  it?" 

Peter  stopped  and  studied  the  ground  at  his  feet  in 
tently.  Finally  he  said  conclusively:  "I  would  go  on 
oath,  Linda,  that  he  was  not.  We  were  all  together  in  the 
living  room,  all  together  in  the  dining  room.  We  left 
together  at  night  and  John  was  with  us." 

"I  see,"  said  Linda.  "Well,  then,  when  you  came 
back  the  next  morning  after  Eileen,  before  you  started 
on  your  trip,  to  hunt  a  location,  was  he  with  you  all  the 
time?" 

Again  Peter  took  his  time  to  answer. 

"We  came  to  your  house  with  Gilman,"  he  said. 
"John  started  to  the  front  door  to  tell  Miss  Eileen  that  we 
were  ready.  I  followed  him.  Anderson  said  he  would 
look  at  the  scenery.  He  must  have  made  a  circuit  of 
the  house,  because  when  we  came  out  ready  to  start,  a 
very  few  minutes  later,  he  was  coming  down  the  other 
side  of  the  house." 

"Ah,"  said  Linda  comprehendingly. 

"Linda,"  said  Peter  quietly,  "it  is  very  obvious  that 
something  has  worried  you  extremely.  Am  I  in  any  way 
connected  with  it?" 

Linda  shook  her  head. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?" 

The  negative  was  repeated.     Then  she  looked  at  him. 


372  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"No,  Peter,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  confess  I  have  had  a 
shock,  but  it  is  in  no  way  connected  with  you  and  there  is 
nothing  you  can  do  about  it  but  forget  my  foolishness. 
But  I  am  glad — Peter,  you  will  never  know  how  glad  I  am 
— that  you  haven't  anything  to  do  with  it." 

Then  in  the  friendliest  fashion  imaginable  she  reached 
him  her  hand  and  led  the  way  back  to  the  Bear-cat,  their 
tightly  gripped  hands  swinging  between  them.  As  Peter 
closed  the  door  he  looked  down  on  Linda. 

"Young  woman,"  he  said,  "since  this  country  has  as 
yet  no  nerve  specialist  to  take  the  place  of  your  distin 
guished  father,  if  you  have  any  waves  to  wave  to  me  to 
night,  kindly  do  it  before  you  start  or  after  you  reach  the 
highway.  If  you  take  your  hands  off  that  steering  wheel 
as  you  round  the  boulders  and  strike  that  declivity  as  I 
have  seen  you  do  heretofore,  I  won't  guarantee  that  I 
shall  not  require  a  specialist  myself." 

Linda  started  to  laugh,  then  she  saw  Peter's  eyes  and 
something  in  them  stopped  her  suddenly. 

"I  did  not  realize  that  I  was  taking  any  risk,"  she  said. 
"I  won't  do  it  again.  I  will  say  good-bye  to  you  right  here 
and  now  so  I  needn't  look  back." 

So  she  shook  hands  with  Peter  and  drove  away.  Peter 
slowly  followed  down  the  rough  driveway,  worn  hard  by 
the  wheels  of  delivery  trucks,  and  stood  upon  the  highest 
point  of  the  rocky  turn,  looking  after  the  small  gray  car  as 
it  slid  down  the  steep  declivity.  And  he  wondered  if  there 
could  have  been  telepathy  in  the  longing  with  which  he 
watched  it  go,  for  at  the  level  roadway  that  followed  be- 


THE  STRAIGHT  AND  NARROW          373 

tween  the  cultivated  land  out  to  the  highway  Linda 
stopped  the  car,  stood  up  in  it,  and  turning,  looked  back 
straight  to  the  spot  upon  which  Peter  stood.  She  waved 
both  hands  to  him,  and  then  gracefully  and  beautifully, 
with  outstretched,  fluttering  fingers  she  made  him  the  sign 
of  birds  flying  home.  And  with  the  whimsy  in  his  soul 
uppermost,  Peter  reflected,  as  he  turned  back  for  a  micro 
scopic  examination  of  Henry  Anderson's  coat  and  the 
contents  of  its  pockets,  that  there  was  one  bird  above  all 
others  which  made  him  think  of  Linda;  but  he  could  not 
at  the  moment  feather  Katherine  O'Donovan.  And  then 
he  further  reflected  as  he  climbed  the  hill  that  if  it 
had  to  be  done  the  best  he  could  do  would  be  a  bantam  hen 
contemplating  domesticity. 

Linda  looked  the  garage  over  very  carefully  when  she  put 
away  the  Bear-cat.  When  she  closed  the  garage  doors  she 
was  particular  about  the  locks.  As  she  came  through 
the  kitchen  she  said  to  Katy,  busy  with  the  lunch  box: 

"Belovedest,  have  there  been  any  strange  Japs  poking 
around  here  lately?" 

She  nearly  colkpsed  when  Katy  answered  promptly: 

"A  dale  too  many  of  the  square-headed  haythens. 
I  am  pestered  to  death  with  them.  They  used  to  come 
jist  to  water  the  lawn  but  now  they  want  to  clane 
the  rugs;  they  want  to  do  the  wash.  They  are  willing 
to  clane  house.  They  want  to  get  into  the  garage;  they 
insist  on  washing  the  car.  If  they  can't  wash  it  they  jist 
want  to  see  if  it  nades  washin'." 

Linda  stood  amazed. 


374  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"And  how  long  has  this  been  going  on,  Katy?"  she 
finally  asked. 

"Well,  I  have  had  two  good  months  of  it,"  said  Katy; 
"that  is,  it  started  two  months  ago.  The  past  month  has 
been  workin'  up  and  the  last  ten  days  it  seemed  to  me  they 
was  a  Jap  on  the  back  steps  oftener  than  they  was  a 
stray  cat,  and  I  ain't  no  truck  with  ayther  of  them.  They 
give  me  jist  about  the  same  falin'.  Between  the  two  I 
would  trust  the  cat  a  dale  further  with  my  bird  than  I 
would  the  Jap." 

"Have  you  ever  unlocked  the  garage  for  them,  Katy?" 
asked  Linda. 

"No,"  said  Katy.  "I  only  go  there  when  I  nade  some 
thing  about  me  work." 

"Well,  Katy,"  said  Linda,  "let  me  tell  you  this:  the 
next  time  you  go  there  for  anything  take  a  good  look  for 
Japs  before  you  open  the  door.  Get  what  you  want  and 
get  out  as  quickly  as  possible  and  be  sure,  Katy,  des 
perately  sure,  that  you  lock  the  door  securely  when  you 
leave." 

Katy  set  her  hands  on  her  hips,  flared  her  elbows,  and 
lifted  her  chin. 

"What's  any  of  them  little  haythen  been  doin'  to  scare 
ye,  missy?"  she  demanded  belligerently.  "Don't  you 
think  I'm  afraid  of  them!  Comes  any  of  them  around  me 
and  I'll  take  my  mopstick  over  the  heads  of  them." 

"And  you'll  break  a  perfectly  good  mopstick  and  not 
hurt  the  Jap  when  you  do  it,"  said  Linda.  "There's  an 
undercurrent  of  something  deep  and  subtle  going  on  in 


THE  STRAIGHT  AND  NARROW          375 

this  country  right  now,  Katy.  When  Japan  sends  college 
professors  to  work  in  our  kitchens  and  relatives  of  her 
greatest  statesmen  to  serve  our  tables,  you  can  depend  on  it 
she  is  not  doing  it  for  the  money  that  is  paid  them.  If  Cali 
fornia  does  not  wake  up  very  shortly  and  very  thoroughly 
she  is  going  to  pay  an  awful  price  for  the  luxury  she  is 
experiencing  while  she  pampers  herself  with  the  service  of 
the  Japanese,  just  as  the  South  has  pampered  herself  for 
generations  with  the  service  of  the  negroes.  When  the 
negroes  learn  what  there  is  to  know,  then  the  day  of  retribu 
tion  will  be  at  hand.  And  this  is  not  croaking,  Katy.  It 
is  the  truest  gospel  that  was  ever  preached.  Keep  your 
eyes  wide  open  for  Japs.  Keep  your  doors  locked,  and  if 
you  see  one  prowling  around  the  garage  and  don't  know 
what  he  is  after,  go  to  the  telephone  and  call  the  police." 
Linda  climbed  the  stairs  to  her  workroom,  plumped  down 
at  the  table,  set  her  chin  in  her  palms,  and  lost  herself  in 
thought.  For  half  an  hour  she  sat  immovable,  staring  at 
her  caricature  of  Eileen  through  narrowed  lids.  Then  she 
opened  the  typewriter,  inserted  a  sheet  and  wrote: 

MY  DEAR  MR.  SNOW: 

I  am  writing  as  the  most  intimate  woman  friend  of  Marian 
Thome.  As  such,  I  have  spent  much  thought  trying  to  fig 
ure  out  exactly  the  reason  for  the  decision  in  your  recent  archi 
tectural  competition;  why  a  man  should  think  of  such  a  number 
of  very  personal,  intimate  touches  that,  from  familiarity  with 
them,  I  know  that  Miss  Thorne  had  incorporated  in  her  plans, 
and  why  his  winning  house  should  be  her  winning  house,  merely 
reversed. 


376  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

To-day  I  have  found  the  answer,  which  I  am  forward 
ing  to  you,  knowing  that  you  will  understand  exactly  what 
should  be  done.  Enclosed  you  will  find  one  of  the  first  rough 
sketches  Marian  made  of  her  plans.  In  some  mysterious  man 
ner  it  was  lost  on  a  night  when  your  prize-winning  architect  had 
dinner  at  our  house  where  Miss  Thorne  was  also  a  guest.  Be 
fore  retiring  she  showed  to  me  and  explained  the  plans  with 
which  she  hoped  to  win  your  competition.  In  the  morning  I 
packed  her  suitcase  and  handed  it  to  the  porter  of  her  train. 
When  she  arrived  at  San  Francisco  she  found  that  the  enclosed 
sheet  was  missing. 

This  afternoon  tidying  a  garage  in  which  Mr.  Peter  Morrison, 
the  author,  is  living  while  Henry  Anderson  completes  a  residence 
he  is  building  for  him  near  my  home,  I  reversed  a  coat  belonging 
to  Henry  Anderson  to  dislodge  from  its  pocket  the  nest  of  a 
field  mouse.  In  so  doing  I  emptied  all  the  pockets,  and  in  gath 
ering  up  their  contents  I  found  this  lost  sheet  from  Marian's 
plans. 

I  think  nothing  more  need  be  said  on  my  part  save  that  I 
understood  the  winning  plan  was  to  become  the  property  of 
Nicholson  and  Snow.  Without  waiting  to  see  whether  these 
plans  would  win  or  not,  Henry  Anderson  has  them  three  fourths 
of  the  way  materialized  in  Mr.  Morrison's  residence  in  Lilac 
Valley  which  is  a  northwestern  suburb  of  Los  Angeles. 

You  probably  have  heard  Marian  speak  of  me,  and  from  her 
you  may  obtain  any  information  you  might  care  to  have  concern 
ing  my  responsibility. 

I  am  mailing  the  sketch  to  you  rather  than  to  Marian  because 
I  feel  that  you  are  the  party  most  deeply  interested  in  a  business 
way,  and  I  hope,  too,  that  you  will  be  interested  in  protecting 
my  very  dear  friend  from  the  disagreeable  parts  of  this  very  dis 
agreeable  situation. 

Very  truly  yours, 

LINDA  STRONG. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
PUTTING  IT  UP  TO  PETER 

WHEN  Peter  Morrison  finally  gave  up  looking 
in  the  pockets  of  Henry  Anderson's  coat  for 
enlightenment  concerning  Linda's  conduct,  it 
was  with  his  mind  settled  on  one  point.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  coat  now  that  could  possibly  have 
startled  the  girl  or  annoyed  her.  Whatever  had  been 
there  that  caused  her  extremely  peculiar  conduct  she  had 
carried  away  with  her.  Peter  had  settled  convictions 
concerning  Linda.  From  the  first  instant  he  had  looked 
into  her  clear  young  eyes  as  she  stood  in  Multiflores 
Canyon  triumphantly  holding  aloft  the  Cotyledon  in  one 
hand  and  with  the  other  struggling  to  induce  the  skirt  of 
her  blouse  to  resume  its  proper  location  beneath  the  band 
of  her  trousers,  he  had  felt  that  her  heart  and  her  mind 
were  as  clear  and  cool  and  businesslike  as  the  energetic 
mountain  stream  hurrying  past  her.  Above  all  others, 
"straight"  was  the  one  adjective  he  probably  would  have 
applied  to  her.  Whatever  she  had  taken  from  Henry's 
pockets  was  something  that  concerned  her.  If  she  took 
anything,  she  had  a  right  to  take  it;  of  that  Peter  was 
unalterably  certain.  He  remembered  that  a  few  days 
before  she  practically  had  admitted  to  him  that  Anderson 

377 


378  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

had  annoyed  her,  and  a  slow  anger  began  to  surge  up 
in  Peter's  carefully  regulated  heart.  His  thoughts  were 
extremely  busy,  but  the  thing  he  thought  most  frequently 
and  most  forcefully  was  that  he  would  thoroughly  enjoy 
taking  Henry  Anderson  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  leading 
him  to  the  sheerest  part  of  his  own  particular  share  of  the 
mountain,  and  exhaustively  booting  him  down  it. 

"It  takes  these  youngsters  to  rush  in  and  raise  the  devil 
where  there's  no  necessity  for  anything  to  happen  if  just  a 
modicum  of  common  sense  had  been  used,"  growled  Peter. 

He  mulled  over  the  problem  for  several  days,  and  then 
he  decided  he  should  see  Linda,  and  with  his  first  look 
into  her  straightforward  eyes,  from  the  tones  of  her  voice 
and  the  carriage  of  her  head  he  would  know  whether  the 
annoyance  persisted.  About  the  customary  time  for  her 
to  return  from  school  Peter  started  on  foot  down  the  short 
cut  between  his  home  and  the  Strong  residence.  He  was 
following  a  footpath  rounding  the  base  of  the  mountain, 
crossing  and  recrossing  the  enthusiastic  mountain  stream 
as  it  speeded  toward  the  valley,  when  a  flash  of  colour  on 
the  farther  side  of  the  brook  attracted  him.  He  stopped, 
then  hastily  sprang  across  the  water,  climbed  a  few  yards, 
and,  after  skirting  a  heavy  clump  of  bushes,  looked  at 
Linda  sitting  beside  them — a  most  astonishing  Linda, 
appearing  small  and  humble,  very  much  tucked  away, 
unrestrained  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  a  wet  handker 
chief  wadded  in  one  hand,  a  packet  of  letters  in  her  lap.  A 
long  instant  they  studied  each  other. 

"Am  I  intruding?"  inquired  Peter  at  last. 


PUTTING  IT  UP  TO  PETER  379 

Linda  shook  her  head  vigorously  and  gulped  down  a  sob. 

"No,  Peter,"  she  sobbed,  "I  had  come  this  far  on  my 
way  to  you  when  my  courage  gave  out." 

Peter  re-arranged  the  immediate  landscape  and  seated 
himself  beside  Linda. 

"Now  stop  distressing  yourself,"  he  said  authorita 
tively.  "You  youngsters  do  take  life  so  seriously.  The 
only  thing  that  could  have  happened  to  you  worth  your 
shedding  a  tear  over  can't  possibly  have  happened;  so  stop 
this  waste  of  good  material.  Tears  are  very  precious 
things,  Linda.  They  ought  to  be  the  most  unusual  things 
in  life.  Now  tell  me  something.  Were  you  coming  to  me 
about  that  matter  that  worried  you  the  other  evening?" 

Linda  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  have  turned  that  matter  over  where 
it  belongs.  I  have  nothing  further  to  do  with  it.  I'll 
confess  to  you  I  took  a  paper  from  among  those  that  fell 
from  Henry  Anderson's  pocket.  It  was  not  his.  He  had 
no  right  to  have  it.  He  couldn't  possibly  have  come  by  it 
honourably  or  without  knowing  what  it  was.  I  took  the 
liberty  to  put  it  where  it  belongs,  or  at  least  where  it 
seemed  to  me  that  it  belongs.  That  is  all  over." 

"Then  something  else  has  happened?"  asked  Peter. 
"Something  connected  with  the  package  of  letters  in  your 
lap?" 

Linda  nodded  vigorously. 

"Peter,  I  have  done  something  perfectly  awful,''  she 
confessed.  "I  never  in  this  world  meant  to  do  it.  I 
wouldn't  have  done  it  for  anything.  I  have  got  myself 


380  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

into  the  dread  fullest  mess,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  get 
out.  When  I  couldn't  stand  it  another  minute  I  started 
right  to  you,  Peter,  just  like  Fd  have  started  to  my  father  if 
I'd  had  him  to  go  to." 

"I  see,"  said  Peter,  deeply  interested  in  the  toe  of  his 
shoe.  "You  depended  on  my  age  and  worldly  experience 
and  my  unconcealed  devotion  to  your  interests,  which  is 
exactly  what  you  should  do,  my  dear.  Now  tell  me.  Dry 
your  eyes  and  tell  me,  and  whatever  it  is  I'll  fix  it  all  right 
and  happily  for  you.  I'll  swear  to  do  it  if  you  want  me  to." 

Then  Linda  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

"Oh,  Peter,  you  dear!"  she  cried.  "Peter,  I'll  just 
kneel  and  kiss  your  hands  if  you  can  fix  this  for  me." 

Peter  set  his  jaws  and  continued  his  meditations  on 
shoe  leather. 

"Make  it  snappy!"  he  said  tersely.  "The  sooner  your 
troubles  are  out  of  your  system  the  better  you'll  feel. 
Whose  letters  are  those,  and  why  are  you  crying  over 
them?" 

"Oh,  Peter,"  quavered  Linda,  "you  know  how  I  love 
Marian.  You  have  seen  her  and  I  have  told  you  over  and 


over." 


"Yes,"  said  Peter  soothingly,  "I  know." 

"I  have  told  you  how,  after  years  of  devotion  to  Marian, 
John  Gilman  let  Eileen  make  a  perfect  rag  of  him  and 
tie  him  into  any  kind  of  knot  she  chose.  Peter,  when 
Marian  left  here  she  had  lost  everything  on  earth  but 
a  little  dab  of  money.  She  had  lost  a  father  who  was 
fine  enough  to  be  my  father's  best  friend.  She  had  lost  a 


PUTTING  IT  UP  TO  PETER  381 

mother  who  was  fine  enough  to  rear  Marian  to  what  she  is. 
She  had  lost  them  in  a  horrible  way  that  left  her  room 
for  a  million  fancies  and  regrets:  'if  I  had  done  this,' 
or  'if  I  had  done  that/  or  'if  I  had  taken  another  road/ 
And  when  she  went  away  she  knew  definitely  she  had 
lost  the  first  and  only  love  of  her  heart;  and  I  knew,  be 
cause  she  was  so  sensitive  and  so  fine,  I  knew,  better  than 
anybody  living,  how  she  could  be  hurt;  and  I  thought  if 
I  could  fix  some  scheme  that  would  entertain  her  and  take 
her  mind  off  herself  and  make  her  feel  appreciated  only 
for  a  little  while — I  knew  in  all  reason,  Peter,  when  she 
got  out  in  the  world  where  men  would  see  her  and  see 
how  beautiful  and  fine  she  is,  there  would  be  somebody 
who  would  want  her  quickly.  All  the  time  I  have  thought 
that  when  she  came  back,  you  would  want  her.  Peter, 
I  fibbed  when  I  said  I  was  setting  your  brook  for  Louise 
Whiting.  I  was  not.  I  don't  know  Louise  Whiting.  She 
is  nothing  to  me.  I  was  setting  it  for  you  and  Marian. 
It  was  a  white  head  I  saw  among  the  iris  marching  down 
your  creek  bank,  not  a  gold  one,  Peter." 

Peter  licked  his  dry  lips  and  found  it  impossible  to  look 
at  Linda. 

"Straight  ahead  with  it,"  he  said  gravely.  "What  did 
you  do?" 

"Oh,  I  have  done  the  awfullest  thing,"  wailed  Linda, 
"the  most  unforgivable  thing!" 

She  reached  across  and  laid  hold  of  the  hand  next 
her,  and  realizing  that  she  needed  it  for  strength  and 
support,  Peter  gave  it  into  her  keeping. 


382  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Yes?"  he  questioned.  "Get  on  with  it,  Linda. 
What  was  it  you  did?" 

"I  had  a  typewriter:  I  could.  I  began  writing  her 
letters,  the  kind  of  letters  that  I  thought  would  interest 
her  and  make  her  feel  loved  and  appreciated." 

"You  didn't  sign  my  name  to  them,  did  you,  Linda?" 
asked  Peter  in  a  dry,  breathless  voice. 

"No,  Peter,"  said  Linda,  "I  did  not  do  that,  I  did 
worse.  Oh,  I  did  a  whole  lot  worse!" 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Peter  hoarsely. 

"I  wanted  to  make  them  fine.  I  wanted  to  make  them 
brilliant.  I  wanted  to  make  them  interesting.  And  of 
course  I  could  not  do  it  by  myself.  I  am  nothing  but  a 
copycat.  I  just  quoted  a  lot  of  the  things  I  had  heard  you 
say;  and  I  did  worse  than  that,  Peter.  I  watched  the 
little  whimsy  lines  around  your  mouth  and  I  tried  to 
interpret  the  perfectly  lovely  things  they  would  make 
you  say  to  a  woman  if  you  loved  her  and  were  building  a 
dream  house  for  her.  And  oh,  Peter,  it's  too  ghastly;  I 
don't  believe  I  can  tell  you." 

"This  is  pretty  serious  business,  Linda,"  said  Peter 
gravely.  "Having  gone  this  far  you  are  in  honour  bound 
to  finish.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  leave  me  with  half  a 
truth.  What  is  the  result  of  this  impersonation?" 

"Oh,  Peter,"  sobbed  Linda,  breaking  down  again, 
"you're  going  to  hate  me;  I  know  you're  going  to  hate  me 
and  Marian's  going  to  hate  me;  and  I  didn't  mean  a  thing 
but  the  kindest  thing  in  all  the  world." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  Linda,"  said  Peter.     "If  your 


PUTTING  IT  UP  TO  PETER  383 

friend  is  all  you  say  she  is,  she  is  bound  to  understand. 
And  as  for  me,  I  am  not  very  likely  to  misjudge  you. 
But  be  quick  about  it.  What  did  you  do,  Linda?" 

"Why,  I  just  wrote  these  letters  that  I  am  telling  you 
about,"  said  Linda,  "and  I  said  the  things  that  I  thought 
would  comfort  her  and  entertain  her  and  help  with  her 
work;  and  these  are  the  answers  that  she  wrote  me,  and  I 
don't  think  I  realized  till  last  night  that  she  was  truly 
attributing  them  to  any  one  man,  truly  believing  in  them. 
Oh,  Peter,  I  wasn't  asleep  a  minute  all  last  night,  and  for 
the  first  time  I  failed  in  my  lessons  to-day." 

"And  what  is  the  culmination,  Linda?"  urged  Peter. 

"She  liked  the  letters,  Peter.  They  meant  all  I  in 
tended  them  to  and  they  must  have  meant  something  I 
never  could  have  imagined.  And  in  San  Francisco  one  of 
the  firm  where  she  studies — a  very  fine  man  she  says  he  is, 
Peter;  I  can  see  that  in  every  way  he  would  be  quite  right 
for  her;  and  I  had  a  letter  from  her  last  night,  and,  Peter, 
he  had  asked  her  to  marry  him,  to  have  a  life-long  chance 
at  work  she's  crazy  about.  He  had  offered  her  a  beauti 
ful  home  with  everything  that  great  wealth  and  culture 
and  good  taste  could  afford.  He  had  offered  her  the 
mothering  of  his  little  daughter;  and  she  refused  him, 
Peter,  refused  him  because  she  is  in  love,  with  all  the  love 
there  is  left  in  her  disappointed,  hurt  heart,  with  the  per 
sonality  that  these  letters  represent  to  her;  and  that 
personality  is  yours,  Peter.  I  stole  it  from  you.  I  copied 
it  into  those  letters.  I'm  not  straight.  I'm  not  fair.  I 
wasn't  honest  with  her.  I  wasn't  honest  with  you.  I'll 


384  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

just  have  to  take  off  from  the  top  of  the  highest  mountain 
or  sink  in  the  deepest  place  in  the  sea,  Peter.  I  thought 
I  was  straight.  I  thought  I  was  honourable.  I  have 
made  Donald  believe  that  I  was.  If  I  have  to  tell  him  the 
truth  about  this  he  won't  want  to  wear  my  flower  any 
more.  I  shall  know  all  the  things  that  Marian  has 
suffered,  and  a  thousand  times  worse,  because  she  was 
not  to  blame;  she  had  nothing  with  which  to  reproach 
herself." 

Peter  put  an  arm  across  Linda's  shoulders  and  drew 
her  up  to  him.  For  a  long,  bitter  moment  he  thought 
deeply,  and  then  he  said  hoarsely:  "Now  calm  down, 
Linda.  You're  making  an  extremely  high  mountain  out 
of  an  extremely  shallow  gopher  hole.  You  haven't  done 
anything  irreparable.  I  see  the  whole  situation.  You 
are  sure  your  friend  has  finally  refused  this  offer  she 
has  had  on  account  of  these  letters  you  have  written?" 

Suddenly  Linda  relaxed.  She  leaned  her  warm  young 
body  against  Peter.  She  laid  her  tired  head  on  his 
shoulder.  She  slipped  the  top  letter  of  the  packet  in  her 
lap  from  under  its  band,  opened  it,  and  held  it  before  him. 
Peter  read  it  very  deliberately,  then  he  nodded  in  ac 
quiescence. 

"It's  all  too  evident,"  he  said  quietly,  "that  you  have 
taught  her  that  there  is  a  man  in  this  world  more  to  her 
liking  than  John  Gilman  ever  has  been.  When  it  came  to 
materializing  the  man,  Linda,  what  was  your  idea?  Were 
you  proposing  to  deliver  me?" 

"I  thought  it  would  be  suitable  and  you  would  be 


PUTTING  IT  UP  TO  PETER  385 

perfectly  happy,"sobbed  Linda,  "and  that  way  I  could 
have  both  of  you." 

"And  Donald  also?"  asked  Peter  lightly. 

"Donald  of  course/'  assented  Linda. 

And  then  she  lifted  her  tear-spilling,  wonderful  eyes, 
wide  open,  to  Peter's,  and  demanded:  "But,  oh  Peter, 
I  am  so  miserable  I  am  almost  dead.  I  have  said  you 
were  a  rock,  and  you  are  a  rock.  Peter,  can  you  get  me 
out  of  this?" 

"Sure,"  said  Peter  grimly.  "Merely  a  case  of  living 
up  to  your  blue  china,  even  if  it  happens  to  be  in  the  form 
of  hieroglyphics  instead  of  baked  pottery.  Give  me  the 
letters,  Linda.  Give  me  a  few  days  to  study  them.  Ex 
change  typewriters  with  me  so  I  can  have  the  same 
machine.  Give  me  some  of  the  paper  on  which  you  have 
been  writing  and  the  address  you  have  been  using,  and 
I'll  guarantee  to  get  you  Out  of  this  in  some  way  that  will 
leave  you  Donald,  and  your  friendship  with  Marian  quite 
as  good  as  new." 

At  that  juncture  Peter  might  have  been  kissed,  but  his 
neck  was  very  stiff  and  his  head  was  very  high  and  his 
eyes  were  on  a  far-distant  hilltop  from  which  at  that  min 
ute  he  could  not  seem  to  gather  any  particular  help. 

"Would  it  be  your  idea,"  he  said,  "that  by  reading  these 
letters  I  could  gain  sufficient  knowledge  of  what  has  passed 
to  go  on  with  this?" 

"Of  course  you  could,"  said  Linda. 

Peter  reached  in  his  side  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  clean 
handkerchief.  He  shook  it  from  its  folds  and  dried  her 


386  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

eyes.  Then  he  took  her  by  her  shoulders  and  set  her  up 
straight. 

"Now  stop  this  nerve  strain  and  this  foolishness,"  he 
said  tersely.  "You  have  done  a  very  wonderful  thing 
for  me.  It  is  barely  possible  that  Marian  Thorne  is  not 
my  dream  woman,  but  we  can't  always  have  our  dreams 
in  this  world,  and  if  I  could  not  have  mine,  truly  and 
candidly,  Linda,  so  far  as  I  have  lived  my  life,  I  would 
rather  have  Marian  Thorne  than  any  other  woman  I 
have  ever  met." 

Linda  clapped  her  hands  in  delight. 

"Oh,  goody  goody,  Peter!"  she  cried.  "How  joyous! 
Can  it  be  possible  that  my  bungling  is  coming  out  right 
for  Marian  and  right  for  you?" 

"And  right  for  you,  Linda?"  inquired  Peter  lightly. 

"Sure,  right  for  me,"  said  Linda  eagerly.  "Of  course 
it's  right  for  me  when  it's  right  for  you  and  Marian.  And 
since  it's  not  my  secret  alone  I  don't  think  it  would  be 
quite  honourable  to  tell  Donald  about  it.  What  hurts 
Marian's  heart  or  heals  it  is  none  of  his  business.  He 
doesn't  even  know  her." 

"All  right  then,  Linda,"  said  Peter,  p'sing,  "give  me  the 
letters  and  bring  me  the  machine  and  the  paper.  Give 
me  the  joyous  details  and  tell  me  when  I  am  expected  to 
send  in  my  first  letter  in  propria  persona?" 

"Oh,  Peter,"  cried  Linda,  beaming  on  him,  "oh,  Peter, 
you  are  a  rock!  I  do  put  my  trust  in  you." 

"Then  God  help  me,"  said  Peter,  "for  whatever  hap 
pens,  your  trust  in  me  shall  not  be  betrayed,  Linda." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND 

POSSIBLY  because  she  wished  to  eliminate  herself 
from  the  offices  of  Nicholson  and  Snow  for  a  few 
days,  possibly  because  her  finely  attuned  nature 
felt  the  call,  Marian  Thorne  boarded  a  train  that  carried 
her  to  Los  Angeles.  She  stepped  from  it  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  by  the  street-car  route  made  her  way 
to  Lilac  Valley.  When  she  arrived  she  realized  that  she 
could  not  see  Linda  before,  possibly,  three  in  the  afternoon. 
She  entered  a  restaurant,  had  a  small  lunch  box  packed, 
and  leaving  her  dressing  case,  she  set  off  down  the  valley 
toward  the  mountains.  She  had  need  of  their  strength, 
their  quiet  and  their  healing.  To  the  one  particular  spot 
where  she  had  found  comfort  in  Lilac  Valley  her  feet  led 
her.  By  paths  of  her  own,  much  overgrown  for  want  of 
recent  usage,  she  passed  through  the  cultivated  fields,  left 
the  roadway,  and  began  to  climb.  When  she  reached  the 
stream  flowing  down  the  rugged  hillside,  she  stopped  to 
rest  for  a  while,  and  her  mind  was  in  a  tumult.  In 
one  minute  she  was  seeing  the  bitterly  disappointed 
face  of  a  lonely,  sensitive  man  whose  first  wound  had 
been  re-opened  by  the  making  of  another  possibly 
quite  as  deep;  and  at  the  next  her  heart  was  throbbing 

387 


388  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

because  Linda  had  succeeded  in  transferring  the  living 
Peter  to  paper. 

The  time  had  come  when  Marian  felt  that  she  would 
know  the  personality  embodied  in  the  letters  she  had 
been  receiving;  and  in  the  past  few  days  her  mind  had 
been  fixing  tenaciously  upon  Peter  Morrison.  And  the 
feeling  concerning  which  she  had  written  Linda  had  taken 
possession  of  her.  Wealth  did  not  matter;  position  did 
not  matter.  Losing  the  love  of  a  good  man  did  not  mat 
ter.  But  the  mind  and  the  heart  and  the  personality  be 
hind  the  letters  she  had  been  receiving  did  matter.  She 
thought  long  and  seriously.  When  at  last  she  arose  she  had 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  she  had  done  the  right  thing, 
no  matter  whether  the  wonderful  letters  she  had  received 
went  on  and  offered  her  love  or  not,  no  matter  about 
anything.  She  must  merely  live  and  do  the  best  she  could, 
until  the  writer  of  those  letters  chose  to  disclose  himself 
and  say  what  purpose  he  had  in  mind  when  he  wrote  them. 

So  Marian  followed  her  own  path  beside  the  creek  until 
she  neared  its  head,  which  was  a  big,  gushing  icy  spring  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain  keeping  watch  over  the  small 
plateau  that  in  her  heart  she  had  thought  of  as  hers  for 
years.  As  she  neared  the  location  strange  sounds  began 
to  reach  her,  voices  of  men,  clanging  of  hammers,  the  rip 
of  saws.  A  look  of  deep  consternation  overspread  her  face. 
She  listened  an  instant  and  then  began  to  run.  When  she 
broke  through  the  rank  foliage  flourishing  from  the  waters 
of  the  spring  and  looked  out  on  the  plateau  what  she  saw 
was  Peter  Morrison's  house  in  the  process  of  being  floored 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND          389 

and  shingled.  For  a  minute  Marian  was  physically  ill. 
Her  heart  hurt  until  her  hand  crept  to  her  side  in  an  effort 
to  soothe  it.  Before  she  asked  the  question  of  a  man 
coming  to  the  spring  with  a  pail  in  his  hand,  she  knew  the 
answer.  It  was  Peter  Morrison's  house.  Marian  sprang 
across  the  brook,  climbed  to  the  temporary  roadway,  and 
walked  down  in  front  of  the  building.  She  stood  looking 
at  it  intently.  It  was  in  a  rough  stage,  but  much  disguise 
is  needed  to  prevent  a  mother  from  knowing  her  own 
child.  Marian's  dark  eyes  began  to  widen  and  to  blaze. 
She  walked  up  to  the  front  of  the  house  and  found  that 
rough  flooring  had  been  laid  so  that  she  could  go  over  the 
first  floor.  When  she  had  done  this  she  left  the  back  door 
a  deeply  indignant  woman. 

"There  is  some  connection,"  she  told  herself  tersely, 
"between  my  lost  sketch  and  this  house,  which  is  merely  a 
left-to-right  reversal  of  my  plans;  and  it's  the  same  plan 
with  which  Henry  Anderson  won  the  Nicholson  and  Snow 
prize  money  and  the  still  more  valuable  honour  of  being 
the  prize  winner.  What  I  want  to  know  is  how  such  a 
wrong  may  be  righted,  and  what  Peter  Morrison  has  to 
do  with  it." 

Stepping  from  the  back  door,  Marian  followed  the  well- 
worn  pathway  that  led  to  the  garage,  looking  right  and  left 
for  Peter,  and  she  was  wondering  what  she  would  say  to 
him  if  she  met  him.  She  was  thinking  that  perhaps  she  had 
better  r-eturn  to  San  Francisco  and  talk  the  matter  over 
with  Mr.  Snow  before  she  said  anything  to  any  one  else;  by 
this  time  she  had  reached  the  garage  and  stood  in  its  wide- 


390  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

open  door.  She  looked  in  at  the  cot,  left  just  as  someone 
had  arisen  from  it,  at  the  row  of  clothing  hanging  on  a 
rough  wooden  rack  at  the  back,  at  the  piled  boxes;  at  the 
big  table,  knocked  together  from  rough  lumber,  in  the 
centre,  scattered  and  piled  with  books  and  magazines;  and 
then  her  eyes  fixed  intently  on  a  packet  lying  on  the  table 
beside  a  typewriter  and  a  stack  of  paper  and  envelopes. 
She  walked  over  and  pieke."  up  the  packet.  As  she 
had  known  the  instant  she  saw  them,  they  were  her 
letters.  She  stood  an  instant  holding  them  in  her  hand,:  a 
dazed  expression  on  her  face.  Mechanically  she  reached 
out  and  laid  her  hands  on  the  closed  typewriter  to  steady 
herself.  Something  about  it  appealed  to  her  as  familiar. 
She  looked  at  it  closely,  then  she  lifted  the  cover  and  ex 
amined  the  machine.  It  was  the  same  machine  that  had 
stood  for  years  in  Doctor  Strong's  library,  a  machine  upon 
which  she  had  typed  business  letters  for  her  own  father, 
and  sometimes  she  had  copied  lectures  and  book  manu 
script  on  it  for  Doctor  Strong.  Until  his  house  was  com 
pleted  and  his  belongings  arrived,  Peter  undoubtedly  had 
borrowed  it.  Suddenly  a  wild  desire  to  escape  swept  over 
Marian.  "Her  first  thought  was  of  her  feelings.  She  was 
angry,  and  justly  so.  In  her  heart  she  had  begun  to  feel 
that  the  letters  she  was  receiving  were  from  Peter  Morri 
son.  Here  was  the  proof. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  in  their  one  meeting  Peter  had 
decided  that  she  was  his  dream  WGtnan,  that  in  some  way 
he  had  secured  that  rough  sketch  of  her  plans,  and  from 
them  was  preparing  her  dream  house  for  her  ?  The  thought 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND          391 

sped  through  her  brain  that  he  was  something  more  than 
human  to  have  secured  those  plans,  to  have  found  that 
secluded  and  choice  location.  For  an  instant  she  forgot 
the  loss  of  the  competition  in  trying  to  comprehend  the 
wonder  of  finding  her  own  particular  house  fitting  her  own 
particular  location  as  naturally  as  one  of  its  big  boulders. 
She  tried  to  replace  the  package  of  letters  exactly  as  she 
had  found  them.  On  tiptoe  she  slipped  back  to  the  door 
and  looked  searchingly  down  the  road,  around,  and  as  far 
as  possible  through  the  house.  Then  she  gathered  her 
skirts,  stepped  from  the  garage,  and  began  the  process  of 
effacing  herself  on  the  mountain  side.  From  clump  to 
clump  of  the  thickest  bushes,  crouching  below  the  sage 
and  greasewood,  pausing  to  rest  behind  lilac  and  elder, 
without  regard  for  her  travelling  suit  or  her  beautifully  shod 
feet,  Marian  fled  from  her  location.  When  at  last  she  felt 
that  she  was  completely  hidden  and  at  least  a  mile  from 
the  spot,  she  dropped  panting  on  a  boulder,  brushing  the 
debris  from  her  skirts,  lifting  trembling  hands  to  straighten 
her  hat,  and  ruefully  contemplating  her  shoes.  Then  she 
tried  to  think  in  a  calm,  dispassionate,  and  reasonable 
manner,  but  she  found  it  a  most  difficult  process.  Her 
mind  was  not  well  ordered,  neither  was  it  at  her  command. 
It  whirled  and  shot  off  at  unexpected  tangents  and  danced 
as  irresponsibly  as  a  grasshopper  from  one  place  to  another. 
The  flying  leaps  it  took  ranged  from  San  Francisco  to  Lilac 
Valley,  from  her  location  upon  which  Peter  Morrison  was 
building  her  house,  to  Linda.  Even  John  Oilman  ob 
truded  himself  once  more.  At  one  minute  she  was  ex- 


392  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

periencing  a  raging  indignation  against  Henry  Anderson. 
How  had  he  secured  her  plan?  At  another  she  was  trying 
to  figure  dispassionately  what  connection  Peter  Morrison 
could  have  had  with  the  building  of  his  house  upon  her 
plan.  Every  time  Peter  came  into  the  equation  her 
heart  arose  in  his  defense.  In  some  way  his  share  in  the 
proceeding  was  all  right.  He  had  cared  for  her  and  he  had 
done  what  he  thought  would  please  her.  Therefore  she 
must  be  pleased,  although  forced  to  admit  to  herself  that 
she  would  have  been  infinitely  more  pleased  to  have  built 
her  own  house  in  her  own  way. 

She  was  hungry  to  see  Linda.  She  wanted  Katherine 
O'Donovan  to  feed  her  and  fuss  over  her  and  entertain  her 
with  her  mellow  Irish  brogue;  but  if  she  went  to  them  and 
disclosed  her  presence  in  the  valley,  Peter  would  know 
about  it,  and  if  he  intended  the  building  he  was  erecting  as 
a  wonderful  surprise  for  her,  then  she  must  not  spoil  his 
joy.  Plan  in  any  way  she  could,  Marian  could  see  no 
course  left  to  her  other  than  to  slip  back  to  the  station  and 
return  to  San  Francisco  without  meeting  any  of  her  friends. 
She  hurriedly  ate  her  lunch,  again  straightened  her  clothing, 
went  to  the  restaurant  for  her  travelling  bag,  and  took  the 
car  for  the  station  where  she  waited  for  a  return  train  to 
San  Francisco.  She  bought  a  paper  and  tried  to  con 
centrate  upon  it  in  an  effort  to  take  her  mind  from  her 
own  problems  so  that,  when  she  returned  to  them,  she 
would  be  better  able  to  think  clearly,  to  reason  justly, 
to  act  wisely.  She  was  very  glad  when  her  train  came 
and  she  was  started  on  her  way  northward.  At  the  first 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND          393 

siding  upon  which  it  stopped  to  allow  the  passing  of  a 
south-bound  limited,  she  was  certain  that  as  the  cars 
flashed  by,  in  one  of  them  she  saw  Eugene  Snow.  She  was 
so  certain  that  when  she  reached  the  city  she  immediately 
called  the  office  and  asked  for  Mr.  Snow,  only  to  be  told 
that  he  had  gone  away  for  a  day  or  two  on  business.  After 
that  Marian's  thought  was  confused  to  the  point  of 
exasperation. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  explain  precisely  the  state  of 
mind  in  which  Linda,  upon  arriving  at  her  home  that 
afternoon,  received  from  Katy  the  information  that  a  man 
named  Snow  had  been  waiting  an  hour  for  her  in  the  living 
room.  Linda's  appearance  was  that  of  a  person  so  aston 
ished  that  Katy  sidled  up  to  her  giving  strong  evidence  of 
being  ready  to  bristle. 

"Ye  know,  lambie,"  she  said  with  elaborate  indifference, 
"ye  ain't  havin'  to  see  anybody  ye  don't  want  to.  If  it's 
somebody  intrudin'  himself  on  ye,  just  say  the  word  and 
I'll  fire  him;  higher  than  Guilderoy's  kite  I'll  be  firm'  him." 

"No,  I  must  see  him,  Katy,"  said  Linda  quietly.  "And 
have  something  specially  nice  for  dinner.  Very  likely  I'll 
take  him  to  see  Peter  Morrison's  house  and  possibly  I'll 
ask  him  and  Peter  to  dinner.  He  is  a  San  Francisco  archi 
tect  from  the  firm  where  Marian  takes  her  lessons,  and  it's 
business  about  Peter's  house.  I  was  surprised,  that's  all." 

Then  Linda  turned  and  laid  a  hand  on  each  of  Katy's 
hairy,  red  arms. 

"Katherine  O'Donovan,  old  dear,"  she  said,  "if  we  do 
come  back  for  dinner,  concentrate  on  Mr.  Snow  and  study 


394  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

him.  Scrutinize,  Katy!  It's  a  bully  word.  Scrutinize 
closely.  To  add  one  more  to  our  long  lists  of  secrets,  here's 
another.  He's  the  man  I  told  you  about  who  has  asked 
Marian  to  marry  him,  and  Marian  has  refused  him  prob 
ably  because  she  prefers  somebody  nearer  home." 

Then  Linda  felt  the  tensing  of  every  muscle  in  Katy's 
body.  She  saw  the  lift  of  her  head,  the  incredulous,  resent 
ful  look  in  her  eyes.  There  was  frank  hostility  in  her  tone. 

"Well,  who  is  there  nearer  home  that  Marian  knows?" 
she  demanded  belligerently. 

"Well,  now,  who  would  there  be?"  retorted  Linda. 

"Ye  ain't  manin'  John  Gilman?"  asked  Katy. 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "I  am  not  meaning  John  Gilman. 
You  should  know  Marian  well  enough  to  know  that." 

"Well,  ye  ought  to  know  yourself  well  enough  to  know 
that  they  ain't  anybody  else  around  these  diggin's  that 
Marian  Thome's  going  to  get,"  said  Katy. 

"I  imagine  Marian  will  get  pretty  much  whom  she 
wants,"  said  Linda  laughingly.  "In  your  heart,  Katy, 
you  know  that  Marian  need  not  have  lost  John  Gilman  if 
she  had  not  deliberately  let  him  go.  If  she  had  been  will 
ing  to  meet  Eileen  on  her  own  ground  and  to  play  the  game 
with  her,  it  wouldn't  have  happened.  Marian  has  more 
brains  in  a  minute  than  Eileen  has  in  a  month." 

When  Linda  drew  back  the  portiere  and  stepped  into  the 
living  room  Eugene  Snow  rose  to  meet  her.  What  either 
of  them  expected  it  might  be  difficult  to  explain.  Know 
ing  so  little  of  each  other,  it  is  very  possible  that  they  had 
no  visualizations.  What  Snow  saw  was  what  everyone 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND         395 

saw  who  looked  at  Linda — a  girl  arrestingly  unusual. 
With  Linda  lay  the  advantage  by  far,  since  shehad  Marian's 
letters  for  a  background.  What  she  saw  was  a  tall  man, 
slender,  and  about  him  there  was  to  Linda  a  strong  ap 
peal.  As  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  she  could  feel  the 
double  hurt  that  Fate  had  dealt  him.  She  thought  she 
could  fathom  the  fineness  in  his  nature  that  had  led  him 
to  make  home-building  his  chosen  occupation.  Instantly 
she  liked  him.  With  only  one  look  deep  into  his  eyes  she 
was  on  his  side.  She  stretched  out  both  her  hands  and 
advanced. 

"Now  isn't  this  the  finest  thing  of  you?"  she  said.  "I 
am  so  glad  that  you  came.  I'll  tell  you  word  for  word 
what  happened  here." 

"That  will  be  fine,"  he  said.  "Which  is  your  favourite 
chair?" 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "that  is  a  joke.  I  am  so  unfa 
miliar  with  this  room  that  I  haven't  any  favourite  chair. 
I'll  have  to  take  the  nearest,  like  Thoreau  selected  his 
piece  of  chicken." 

Then  for  a  few  minutes  Linda  talked  frankly.  She 
answered  Eugene  Snow's  every  question  unhesitatingly 
and  comprehensively.  Together  they  ascended  the  stairs, 
and  in  the  guest  room  she  showed  him  the  table  at  which 
she  and  Marian  had  studied  the  sketches  of  plans,  and 
exactly  where  they  had  left  them  lying  over  night. 

"The  one  thing  I  can't  be  explicit  about,"  said  Linda, 
"is  how  many  sheets  were  there  in  the  morning.  We 
had  stayed  awake  so  late  talking,  that  we  overslept.  I 


396  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

packed  Marian's  bag  while  she  dressed.  I  snatched  up 
what  there  were  without  realizing  whether  there  were  two 
sheets  or  three,  laid  them  in  the  flat  bottom  of  the  case, 
and  folded  her  clothing  on  top  of  them." 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Snow  comprehendingly.  "Now  let's 
experiment  a  little.  Of  course  the  window  before  that 
table  was  raised?" 

"Yes,  it  was,"  said  Linda;  "but  every  window  in  the 
house  is  screened." 

"And  what  about  the  door  opening  into  the  hall?  Can 
you  tell  me  whether  it  was  closed  or  open  ? " 

"It  was  open,"  said  Linda.  "We  left  it  slightly  ajar  to 
create  a  draft;  the  night  was  warm." 

"Is  there  any  one  about  the  house,"  inquired  Mr.  Snow, 
"who  could  tell  us  certainly  whether  that  window  was 
screened  that  night  ? " 

"Of  course,"  said  Linda.  "Our  housekeeper,  {Catherine 
O' Donovan,  would  know.  When  we  go  down  we'll  ask 
her." 

On  their  return  to  the  living  room,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  Linda  rang  for  Katy.  She  hesitated  an  instant  be 
fore  she  did  it.  It  would  be  establishing  a  relationship 
that  never  before  had  existed  between  them.  She  always 
had  gone  to  Katy  as  she  would  have  gone  to  her  mother. 
She  would  have  gone  to  her  now,  but  she  wanted  Katy  to 
make  her  appearance  and  give  her  information  without 
the  possibility  of  previous  discussion.  Katy  answered  the 
bell  almost  at  once.  Linda  went  to  her  side  and  reached 
her  arm  across  her  shoulders. 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND          397 

"Katy,"  she  said,  "this  is  Mr.  Eugene  Snow  of  San  Fran 
cisco.  He  is  interested  in  finding  out  exactly  what  became 
of  that  lost  plan  of  Marian's  that  we  have  looked  for  so 
carefully.  Put  on  your  thinking  cap,  old  dear,  and  try  to 
answer  accurately  any  question  that  Mr.  Snow  may  wish 
to  ask  you." 

Katy  looked  expectantly  at  Eugene  Snow. 

"In  the  meantime,"  said  Linda,  "I'll  be  excused  and  go 
bring  round  the  Bear-cat." 

"I  have  only  one  question  to  ask  you,"  said  Mr.  Snow. 
"Can  you  recall  whether,  for  any  reason,  there  was  a  screen 
out  of  the  guest-room  window  directly  in  front  of  which 
the  reading  table  was  standing  the  night  Miss  Marian 
occupied  the  room  before  leaving  for  San  Francisco?" 

"Sure  there  was,"  answered  Katy  instantly  in  her  rich 
est,  mellowest  brogue. 

She  was  taking  the  inventory  she  had  been  told  to  take. 
She  was  deciding,  as  instantly  as  Linda  had  done,  that  she 
liked  this  man.  Years,  appearance,  everything  about 
him  appealed  to  Katy  as  being  exactly  right  for  Marian; 
and  her  cunning  Irish  mind  was  leaping  and  flying  and 
tugging  at  the  leash  that  thirty  years  of  conventions  had 
bound  upon  her. 

"Sure,"  she  repeated;  "the  wildest  santana  that  ever 
roared  over  us  just  caught  that  screen  and  landed  it  slam 
against  the  side  of  the  garage,  and  it  set  inside  for  three 
days  till  I  could  get  a  workman  to  go  up  the  outside  and 
put  it  back.  It  had  been  out  two  days  before  the  night 
Marian  was  here." 


398  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Did  Miss  Linda  know  about  it?"  asked  Snow. 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  Katy.  "She  is  a  schoolgirl, 
you  know,  off  early  in  the  morning,  back  and  up  to  her 
room,  the  busiest  youngster  the  valley  knows;  and  doin' 
a  dale  of  good  she  is,  too.  It  was  Miss  Eileen  that  heard 
the  screen  ripped  out  and  told  me  it  was  gone.  She's  the 
one  who  looked  after  the  housekapin'  and  paid  the  bills. 
She  knew  all  about  it.  If  'twould  be  helpin'  Miss  Marian 
any  about  findin'  them  plans  we've  ransacked  the  premises 
for,  I  couldn't  see  any  reason  why  Miss  Eileen  wouldn't 
tell  ye  the  same  as  I'm  tellin'  ye,  and  her  housekapin' 
accounts  and  her  cheque  book  would  show  she  paid  the 
carpenter,  if  it's  lagal  business  you're  wantin'." 

"Thank  you,  Katy,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  "I  hope  nothing 
of  that  kind  will  occur.  A  great  wrong  has  been  perpe 
trated,  but  we  must  find  some  way  to  right  it  without 
involving  such  extremely  nice  young  women  in  the  annoy 
ance  of  legal  proceedings." 

Katy  folded  her  arms  and  raised  her  head.  All  her 
share  of  the  blarney  of  Ireland  began  to  roll  from  the 
mellow  tip  of  her  tongue. 

"Now,  the  nice  man  ye  are,  to  be  seein'  the  beauty  of 
them  girls  so  quick,"  she  said.  "The  good  Lord  airly  in 
the  mornin'  of  creation  thought  them  out  when  He  was  jist 
fresh  from  rist,  and  the  material  was  none  shopworn. 
They  ain't  ladies  like  'em  anywhere  else  in  the  whole  of 
California,  and  belave  me,  a  many  rale  ladies  have  I  seen 
in  my  time.  Ye  can  jist  make  up  your  mind  that  Miss 
Linda  is  the  broth  of  the  earth.  She  is  her  father's  own 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND         399 

child  and  she  is  like  him  as  two  pase  in  the  pod.  And 
Marian  growed  beside  her,  and  much  of  a  hand  IVe  had 
in  her  raisin'  meself,  and  well  I'm  knowin'  how  fine  she  is 
and  what  a  juel  she'd  be,  set  on  any  man's  hearthstone. 
I'm  wonderin',"  said  Katy  challengingly,  "if  you're  the 
Mr.  Snow  at  whose  place  she  is  takin'  her  lessons,  and  if 
ye  are,  I'm  wonderin'  if  ye  ain't  goin'  to  use  the  good  judg 
ment  to  set  her,  like  the  juel  she  would  be,  in  the  stone  of 
your  own  hearth." 

Eugene  Snow  looked  at  Katy  intently.  He  was  not 
accustomed  to  discussing  his  affairs  with  household  help 
ers,  but  he  could  not  look  at  Katy  without  there  remaining 
in  his  vision  the  form  of  Linda  standing  beside  her,  a  reas 
suring  arm  stretched  across  her  shoulders,  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  presented  her  and  then  left  her  that  she 
might  be  free  to  answer  as  she  chose  without  her  young 
mistress  even  knowing  exactly  what  was  asked  of  her. 
Such  faith  and  trust  and  love  were  unusual. 

"I  might  try  to  do  that  very  thing,"  he  said,  "but,  you 
know,  a  wonderful  woman  is  an  animated  jewel.  You 
can't  manufacture  a  setting  and  put  her  in  and  tighten  the 
clasps  without  her  consent." 

"Then  why  don't  you  get  it?"  said  Katy  casually. 

Eugene  Snow  laughed  ruefully. 

"But  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  the  particular  jewel 
you're  discussing  prefers  to  select  her  own  setting,  and 
mine  does  not  please  her." 

"Well,  they's  jist  one  thing,"  said  Katy.  Her  heels 
left  the  floor  involuntarily;  she  arose  on  her  tiptoes;  her 


400  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

shoulders  came  up,  and  her  head  lifted  to  a  height  it  never 
had  known  before.  "They's  jist  one  thing,"  she  said. 
"Aside  from  Miss  Linda,  who  is  my  very  own  child  that 
I  have  washed  and  I  have  combed  and  I  have  done  for  since 
she  was  a  toddlin'  four-year-old,  they  ain't  no  woman  in 
this  world  I  would  go  as  far  for  as  I  would  for  Miss  Marian ; 
but  I'm  tellin'  ye  now,  ye  Mr.  Eujane  Snow,  that  they's 
one  thing  I  don't  lend  no  countenance  to.  I  am  sorry  she 
has  had  the  cold,  cruel  luck  that  she  has,  but  I  ain't  sorry 
enough  that  Fm  goin'  to  stand  for  her  droppin'  herself 
into  the  place  where  she  doesn't  belong.  If  the  good  Lord 
ain't  give  her  the  sense  to  see  that  you're  jist  the  image 
of  the  man  that  would  be  jist  exactly  right  for  her,  some 
body  had  better  be  tellin'  her  so.  Anyway,  if  Miss  Linda 
is  takin'  ye  up  to  the  house  that  Mr.  Pater  Morrison  is 
buildin'  and  the  Pater  man  is  there,  I  would  advise  ye  to 
cast  your  most  discernin'  eye  on  that  gintleman.  Ye  watch 
him  jist  one  minute  when  he  looks  at  the  young  missus  and 
he  thinks  nobody  ain't  observing  him,  and  ye'll  see  what 
ye'll  see.  If  ye  want  Marian,  ye  jist  go  on  and  take  her. 
I'm  not  carin'  whether  ye  use  a  club  or  white  vi'lets,  but 
don't  ye  be  lettin'  Marian  Thorne  get  no  idea  into  her  head 
that  she  is  goin'  to  take  Mr.  Pater  Morrison,  because  con- 
cernin'  Pater  I  know  what  I  know,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to 
stand  by  and  see  things  goin'  wrong  for  want  of  spakin' 
up.  Now  if  you're  a  wise  man,  ye  don't  nade  nothing 
further  said  on  the  subject." 

Eugene  Snow  thought  intently  for  a  few  moments.     His 
vision  centred  on  Katherine  O' Donovan's  face. 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND    401 

"You're  absolutely  sure  of  this?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Jist  as  sure  as  the  sun's  sure,  and  the  mountains,  and 
the  seasons  come  and  go," said  Katy  with  finality.  "Watch 
him  and  you'll  see  it  stickin'  out  all  over  him.  I  have 
picked  him  for  me  boss,  and  it's  jist  adorin'  that  man 
crature  I  am." 

"What  about  Miss  Linda?"  inquired  Snow.  "Is  she 
adoring  him?" 

"She  ain't  nothing  but  a  ganglin'  school  kid,  adorin'  the 
spade  with  which  she  can  shoot  around  that  Bear-cat 
of  hers,  and  race  the  canyons,  and  the  raly  lovely  things 
she  can  strike  on  paper  with  her  pencil  and  light  up  with 
her  joyous  colours.  Her  day  and  her  hour  ain't  come, 
and  the  Pater  man's  that  fine  he  won't  lay  a  finger  on  her 
to  wake  her  up  when  she  has  a  year  yet  of  her  schoolin* 
before  her.  But  in  the  manetime  it's  my  job  to  stand 
guard  as  I'm  standin'  right  now.  I'm  tellin'  ye  frank  and 
fair.  Ye  go  on  and  take  Marian  Thorne  because  ye  ought 
to  have  her.  If  she's  got  any  idea  in  her  head  that 
she's  goin'  to  have  Pater  Morrison,  she'll  have  to  get  it 


out.'3 


Eugene  Snow  held  out  his  hand  and  started  to  the  front 
door  in  answer  to  the  growl  of  the  Bear-cat.  As  he  came 
down  the  steps  and  advanced  to  the  car,  Linda,  with  the 
quick  eye  that  had  been  one  of  her  special  gifts  as  a  birth 
right,  noted  a  change  in  him.  He  seemed  to  have  been 
keyed  up  and  toned  up.  There  was  a  different  expression 
on  his  face.  There  was  buoyancy  in  his  step.  There 
was  a  visible  determination  in  his  eye.  ,  He  took  the  seat 


402  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

beside  her  and  Linda  started  the  car.  She  looked  at  him 
interrogatively. 

"Can  you  connect  a  heavy  wind  with  the  date  of  the  lost 
plan?"  he  inquired. 

"There  was  a  crack-a-jack  a  few  days  before/'  said 
Linda.  "It  blew  over  some  trees  in  the  lot  next  to  us." 

"Exactly,"  said  Snow;  "and  it  plucked  a  screen  from 
your  guest-room  window.  Katy  thinks  that  the  cheque 
to  the  carpenter  and  the  cost  of  the  repairs  will  be  in  your 
sister's  account  books." 

"Urn  hm,"  nodded  Linda.  "Well,  that  simplifies 
matters,  because  Peter  Morrison  is  going  to  tell  you  about 
a  trip  Henry  Anderson  made  around  our  house  the  morning 
Marian  left." 

"I  think  that  is  about  all  we  need  to  know,"  said  Mr. 
Snow  conclusively. 

"I  think  so,"  said  Linda,  "but  I  want  you  to  see  Peter's 
house  for  yourself,  since  I  understand  that  according  to 
your  contract  the  rights  to  reproduce  these  particular 
plans  remained  with  you  after  you  had  paid  prize  money 
for  them." 

"Most  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  "We  should  have 
that  much  to  show  for  our  share  of  the  transaction." 

"It's  a  queer  thing,"  said  Linda.  "You  would  have  to 
know  me  a  long  time,  and  perhaps  know  under  what  con 
ditions  I  have  been  reared  in  order  to  understand  a  feeling 
that  I  frequently  have  concerning  people.  I  tobogganed 
down  a  sheer  side  of  Multiflores  Canyon  one  day  without 
my  path  having  been  previously  prepared,  and  I  very 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND          403 

nearly  landed  in  the  automobile  that  carried  Henry  Ander 
son  and  Peter  Morrison  on  their  first  trip  to  Lilac  Valley. 
I  was  much  interested  in  preserving  the  integrity  of  my 
neck.  I  fervently  hoped  not  to  break  more  than  a  dozen 
of  my  legs  and  arms,  and  was  forced  to  bring  down  intact 
the  finest  Cotyledon  pulverulenta  that  Daddy  or  I  had  found 
in  fourteen  years  of  collecting  in  California.  I  am  telling 
you  all  this  that  you  may  see  why  I  might  have  been  ex 
cused  for  not  having  been  minutely  observant  of  my  sur 
roundings  when  I  landed.  But  what  I  did  observe  was  a 
chilly,  caterpillary  sensation  chasing  up  my  spine  the  in 
stant  I  met  the  eyes  of  Henry  Anderson.  In  that  instant 
I  said  to  myself  that  I  would  not  trust  him,  that  I  did  not 
like  him." 

"And  what  about  his  companion?"  asked  Eugene  Snow 
lightly. 

"Oh,  Peter?"  said  Linda.  There  was  a  caress  in  her 
pronunciation  of  the  name.  "Why,  Peter  is  a  rock.  The 
instant  I  deposited  my  Cotyledon  in  a  safe  place  I  would 
have  put  my  hand  in  Peter  Morrison's  and  started  around 
the  world  if  he  had  asked  me  to  go.  There  is  only  one 
Peter.  You  will  recognize  that  the  instant  you  meet  him." 

"I  am  altogether  willing  to  take  your  word  for  it,"  said 
Mr.  Snow. 

"And  there  is  one  thing  about  this  disagreeable  busi 
ness,"  said  Linda.  "It  was  not  Peter's  coat  that  had  the 
plan  in  it.  He  knew  nothing  about  it.  He  has  had  his 
full  service  of  stiff  war  work,  and  he  has  been  knocking 
around  big  cities  in  newspaper  work,  and  now  he  has  come 


404  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

home  to  Lilac  Valley  to  'set  up  his  rest,'  as  in  the  hymn 
book,  you  know.  He  built  his  garage  first  and  he  is  living 
in  it  because  he  so  loves  this  house  of  his  that  he  has  to  be 
present  to  watch  it  grow  in  minutest  detail.  Once  on  a 
time  I  saw  a  great  wizard  walking  along  the  sidewalk,  and 
he  looked  exactly  like  any  man.  He  might  have  been  you 
so  far  as  anything  different  from  other  men  in  his  appear 
ance  was  concerned." 

Linda  cut  down  the  Bear-cat  to  its  slowest  speed. 

"What  is  on  my  mind  is  this,"  she  said.  "I  don't 
think  Peter  could  quite  afford  the  amount  of  ground  he 
has  bought,  and  the  house  he  is  building.  I  think  possibly 
he  is  tying  himself  up  in  obligations.  It  may  take  him 
two  or  three  years  to  come  even  on  it;  but  it  is  a  prepos 
session  with  him.  Now  can't  you  see  that  if  we  go  to 
him  and  tell  him  this  sordid,  underhand,  unmanly  tale, 
how  his  fine  nature  is  going  to  be  hurt,  how  his  big  heart  is 
going  to  be  wrung,  how  his  home-house  that  he  is  building 
with  such  eager  watchfulness  will  be  a  weighty  Old  Man  of 
the  Sea  clinging  to  his  back?  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Eugene 
Snow,  that  you're  enough  of  a  wizard  to  examine  this 
house  and  to  satisfy  yourself  as  to  whether  it's  an  infringe 
ment  of  your  plans  or  not,  without  letting  Peter  know  the 
things  about  it  that  would  spoil  it  for  him?" 

Eugene  Snow  reached  across  and  closed  a  hand  over  the 
one  of  Linda's  nearest  him  on  the  steering  wheel. 

"You  very  decent  kid,  you,"  he  said  appreciatively.  "I 
certainly  am  enough  of  a  wizard  to  save  your  Peter  man 
any  disillusionment  concerning  his  dream  house." 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND          405 

"Oh,  but  he  is  not  my  Peter  man,"  said  Linda.  "We 
are  only  the  best  friends  in  the  world.  Really  and  truly? 
if  you  can  keep  a  secret,  he's  Marian's." 

"Is  he?"  asked  Mr.  Snow  interestedly.  And  then  he 
added  very  casually,  in  the  most  off-hand  manner — he  said 
it  more  to  an  orange  orchard  through  which  they  were 
passing  than  he  said  it  to  Linda — "I  have  very  grave 
doubts  about  that.  I  think  there  must  be  some  slight 
complication  that  will  have  to  be  cleared  up." 

Linda's  heart  gave  a  great  jump  of  consternation. 

"Indeed  no,"  she  said  emphatically.  "I  don't  think  he 
has  just  told  Marian  yet,  but  I  am  very  sure  that  he 
cares  for  her  more  than  for  any  other  woman,  and  I  am 
equally  sure  she  cares  for  him;  and  nothing  could  be  more 
suitable." 

"All  right  then,"  agreed  Mr.  Snow. 

Linda  put  the  Bear-cat  at  the  mountain,  crept  around 
the  road,  skirted  the  boulders,  and  stopped  half  way  to  the 
garage.  And  there,  in  a  low  tone,  she  indicated  to  Mr. 
Snow  where  they  had  lunched,  when  she  found  the  plans, 
how  she  had  brought  out  the  coat,  where  she  had  emptied 
the  mouse  nest.  Then  she  stepped  from  the  car  and  hal 
looed  for  Peter.  Peter  came  hurrying  from  the  garage, 
and  Eugene  Snow  was  swift  in  his  mental  inventory.  It 
coincided  exactly  with  Linda's.  He  would  have  been 
willing  to  join  hands  with  Peter  and  start  around  the 
world,  quite  convinced  of  the  fairness  of  the  outcome, 
with  no  greater  acquaintance  than  one  intent  look  at 
Peter,  one  grip  of  his  sure  hand.  After  that  he  began 


4o6  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

to  act  on  Katy's  hint,  and  in  a  very  short  time  he  had 
convinced  himself  that  she  was  right.  Maybe  Peter  tried 
to  absorb  himself  in  the  plans  he  was  going  over,  in  the 
house  he  was  proud  to  show  the  great  architect;  but  it 
seemed  to  the  man  he  was  entertaining  that  his  glance 
scarcely  left  Linda,  that  he  was  so  preoccupied  with  where 
she  went  and  what  she  did  that  he  was  like  a  juggler  keep 
ing  two  mental  balls  in  the  air  at  the  same  time. 

It  seemed  to  Peter  a  natural  thing  that,  the  architect 
being  in  the  city  on  business,  he  should  run  out  to  call  on 
Miss  Thome's  dearest  friend.  It  seemed  to  him  equally 
natural  that  Linda  should  bring  him  to  see  a  house  in 
which  she  was  so  kindly  interesting  herself.  And  just 
when  Peter  was  most  dexterous  in  his  juggling,  just  when 
he  was  trying  to  explain  the  very  wonderful  step-saving, 
time-saving,  rational  kitchen  arrangements  and  at  the 
same  time  watch  Linda  on  her  course  down  to  the  spring, 
the  architect  halted  him  with  a  jerk.  Eugene  Snow 
stood  very  straight,  his  hands  in  his  coat  pockets,  look 
ing,  Peter  supposed,  with  interest  at  the  arrangements  of 
kitchen  conveniences.  His  next  terse  sentence  fairly 
staggered  Peter.  He  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye  and 
inquired  casually:  "Chosen  your  dream  woman  to  fit 
your  house,  Morrison?" 

Peter  was  too  surprised  to  conceal  his  feelings.  His 
jaws  snapped  together;  a  belligerent  look  sprang  into  his 
eyes. 

"I  have  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  houses,"  continued 
Mr.  Snow.  "They  are  my  life  work.  I  find  that  in- 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND          407 

variably  they  are  built  for  a  woman.  Almost  always  they 
are  built  from  her  plans,  and  for  her  pleasure.  It's  a  new 
house,  a  unique  house,  a  wonderful  house  you're  evolving 
here.  It  must  be  truly  a  wonderful  woman  you're  dream 
ing  about  while  you  build  it." 

That  was  a  nasty  little  trap.  With  his  years  and 
worldly  experience  Peter  should  not  have  fallen  into  it; 
but  all  men  are  children  when  they  are  sick,  heart  sick  or 
body  sick,  and  Peter  was  a  very  sick  man  at  that  minute. 
He  had  been  addressed  in  such  a  frank  and  casual  manner. 
His  own  brain  shot  off  at  queer  tangents  and  led  him 
constantly  into  unexpected  places.  The  narrow  side 
lane  that  opened  up  came  into  view  so  suddenly  that 
Peter,  with  the  innocence  of  a  four-year-old,  turned  with 
military  precision  at  the  suggestion  and  looked  over  the 
premises  for  the  exact  location  of  Linda.  Eugene  Snow 
had  seen  for  himself  the  thing  that  Katy  had  told  him  he 
would  see  if  he  looked  for  it.  Suddenly  he  held  out  his 
hand. 

"As  man  to  man,  Morrison,  in  this  instance,"  he  said  in 
rather  a  hoarse,  breathless  voice,  "don't  you  think  it  would 
be  a  good  idea  for  you  and  me  to  assert  our  manhood,  to 
manage  our  own  affairs,  to  select  our  own  wives  if  need 
be  ?  If  we  really  set  ourselves  to  the  job  don't  you  believe 
we  can  work  out  our  lives  more  to  our  liking  than  any  one 
else  can  plan  for  us  ?  You  get  the  idea,  don't  you,  Morri 
son?" 

Peter  was  facing  the  kitchen  sink  but  he  did  not  see  it. 
His  brain  was  whirling.  He  did  see  Snow's  point  of  view. 


4o8  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

He  did  realize  his  position.  But  what  Mr.  Snow  knew 
of  his  affairs  he  could  only  guess.  The  one  thing  Mr. 
Snow  could  not  know  was  that  Linda  frankly  admitted 
her  prepossession  for  her  school  chum,  Donald  Whiting, 
but  in  any  event  if  Peter  could  not  have  Linda  he  would 
much  prefer  occupying  his  dream  house  alone.  So  he 
caught  at  the  straw  held  out  to  him  with  both  hands. 

"I  get  you,"  he  said  tersely.  "It  is  not  quite  up  to  the 
mark  of  the  manhood  we  like  to  think  we  possess  to  let  our 
lives  be  engineered  by  a  high-school  kid.  Suppose  we  do 
just  quietly  and  masterfully  assert  ourselves  concerning 
our  own  affairs." 

"Suppose  we  do,"  said  Snow  with  finality. 

Whereupon  they  shook  hands  with  a  grip  that  whitened 
their  knuckles. 

Then  they  went  back  to  Lilac  Valley  and  had  their 
dinner  together,  and  Linda  and  Peter  escorted  Eugene 
Snow  to  his  train  and  started  him  on  his  return  trip  to 
San  Francisco  feeling  very  much  better.  Peter  would  not 
allow  Linda  to  drive  him  home  at  night,  so  he  left  her  after 
the  Bear-cat  had  been  safely  placed  in  the  garage.  As  she 
stood  on  the  walk  beside  him,  strongly  outlined  in  the 
moonlight,  Peter  studied  Linda  whimsically.  He  said  it 
half  laughingly,  but  there  was  something  to  think  about 
in  what  he  said: 

"I'm  just  picturing,  Linda,  what  a  nice  old  lady  you 
will  be  by  the  time  that  High-School  kid  of  yours  spends 
four  years  in  college,  one  on  the  continent,  and  the  Lord 
knows  how  many  at  mastering  a  profession." 


KATY  UNBURDENS  HER  MIND          409 

Linda  looked  at  him  with  widened  eyes. 

"Why,  what  are  you  talking  about,  Peter?  Are  you 
moonstruck?"  she  inquired  solicitously.  "Donald's  only 
a  friend,  you  know.  I  love  him  because  he  is  the  nicest 
companion ;  but  there  is  nothing  for  you  to  be  silly  about." 

Then  Peter  began  to  realize  the  truth.  There  wasn't 
anything  for  him  to  be  concerned  about.  She  had  not 
the  slightest  notion  what  love  meant,  even  as  she  an 
nounced  that  she  loved  Donald. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

PETER'S  RELEASE 

EUGENE  SNOW  returned  to  San  Francisco  en 
thusiastic  about  Linda,  while  he  would  scarcely 
have  known  how  to  express  his  appreciation  of 
Katherine  O'Donovan.  He  had  been  served  a  delicious 
dinner,  deftly  and  quietly,  such  food  as  men  particularly 
like;  but  there  had  been  no  subservience.  If  Katherine 
O'Donovan  had  been  waiting  on  her  own  table,  serving  her 
own  friends,  she  could  not  have  managed  with  more  pride. 
It  was  very  evident  that  she  loved  service,  that  she  loved 
the  girl  to  whom  she  gave  constant  attention.  He  under 
stood  exactly  what  there  was  in  her  heart  and  why  she  felt 
as  she  did  when  he  saw  Linda  and  Peter  together  and  heard 
their  manner  of  speaking  to  each  other,  and  made  mental 
note  of  the  many  points  of  interest  which  seemed  to  exist 
between  them.  He  returned  to  San  Francisco  with  a  good 
deal  of  a  "See-the-conquering-hero-comes"  mental  atti 
tude.  He  went  directly  to  his  office,  pausing  on  the  way 
for  a  box  of  candy  and  a  bunch  of  Parma  violets.  His  first 
act  on  reaching  the  office  was  to  send  for  Miss  Thorne. 
Marian  came  almost  immediately,  a  worried  look  in  her 
eyes.  She  sat  in  the  big,  cushioned  chair  that  was  offered 
her,  and  smiled  faintly  when  the  box  was  laid  on  her  lap, 

410 


PETER'S  RELEASE  411 

topped  with  the  violets.  She  looked  at  Eugene  Snow  with 
an  "I-wish-you-wouldn't"  expression  on  her  face;  but  he 
smiled  at  her  reassuringly. 

"Nothing,"  he  said.  "Picked  them  up  on  the  way 
from  the  station.  I  made  a  hasty  trip  to  that  precious 
Lilac  Valley  of  yours,  and  I  must  say  it  pales  your  repre 
sentations.  It  is  a  wonderfully  lovely  spot." 

Marian  settled  back  in  the  chair.  She  picked  up  the 
violets  and  ran  an  experienced  finger  around  the  stems 
until  she  found  the  pin  with  which  she  fastened  them  at 
her  waist.  Then  as  they  occupied  themselves  making 
selections  from  the  candy  box  he  looked  smilingly  at 
Marian.  Her  eyes  noted  the  change  in  him.  He  was 
neither  disappointed  nor  sad.  Something  had  happened 
in  Lilac  Valley  that  had  changed  his  perspective.  Woman 
like,  she  began  probing. 

"Glad  you  liked  my  valley,"  she  said.  "We  are  told 
that  blue  is  a  wonderful  aura  to  surround  a  person,  and 
it's  equally  wonderful  when  it  surrounds  a  whole  valley. 
With  the  blue  sky  and  the  blue  walls  and  a  few  true-blue 
friends  I  have  there,  it's  naturally  a  very  dear  spot  to 


me." 


"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Snow,  "I  can  see  that  it  is.  I  ran 
down  on  a  business  matter.  I  have  been  deeply  puzzled 
and  much  perturbed  over  this  prize  contest.  We  have 
run  these  affairs  once  a  year,  sometimes  oftener,  for  a  long 
time,  so  I  couldn't  understand  the  peculiar  thing  about 
the  similarity  of  the  winning  plans  and  your  work  this 
year.  I  have  been  holding  up  the  prize  money,  because 


4i2  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

I  did  not  feel  that  you  were  saying  exactly  what  was  in 
your  heart,  and  I  couldn't  be  altogether  satisfied  that 
everything  was  right.  I  went  to  Lilac  Valley  because  I 
had  a  letter  from  your  friend,  Miss  Linda  Strong.  There 
was  an  enclosure  in  it." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  folded  sheet  and  handed 
it  to  Marian.  Her  eyes  were  surprised,  incredulous,  as 
she  opened  the  missing  sheet  from  her  plans,  saw  the 
extraneous  lines  drawn  upon  it  and  the  minute  figuring 
with  which  the  margin  was  covered. 

"Linda  found  it  at  last!"  she  cried.  "Where  in  this 
world  did  she  get  it,  and  whose  work  is  this  on  it?" 

"She  got  it,"  said  Eugene  Snow,  "when  she  undertook 
to  clean  Peter  Morrison's  workroom  on  an  evening  when 
she  and  her  cook  were  having  supper  with  him.  She 
turned  a  coat  belonging  to  his  architect  that  hung  with 
some  of  his  clothing  in  Peter  Morrison's  garage.  She  was 
shaking  the  nest  of  a  field  mouse  from  one  of  the  side 
pockets.  Naturally  this  emptied  all  the  pockets,  and  in 
gathering  up  their  contents  she  came  across  that  plan, 
which  she  recognized.  She  thought  it  was  right  to 
take  it  and  very  wisely  felt  that  it  was  man's  business, 
so  she  sent  it  to  me  with  her  explanations.  I  went  to 
Lilac  Valley  because  I  wanted  to  judge  for  myself  exactly 
what  kind  of  young  person  she  was.  I  wanted  to  see  her 
environment.  I  wanted  to  see  the  house  that  she  felt  sure 
was  being  built  from  these  plans.  I  wanted  to  satisfy 
myself  of  the  stability  of  what  I  had  to  work  on  before  I 
mentioned  the  matter  to  you  or  Henry  Anderson." 


PETER'S  RELEASE  413 

Marian  sat  holding  the  plan,  listening  absorbedly  to 
what  he  was  saying. 

"It's  an  ugly  business,"  he  said,  "so  ugly  that  there  is 
no  question  whatever  but  that  it  can  be  settled  very 
quietly  and  without  any  annoyance  to  you.  I  shall  have 
to  take  the  matter  up  with  the  board,  but  I  have  the 
details  so  worked  out  that  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in 
arranging  matters  as  I  think  best.  There  is  no  question 
whatever,  Marian,  but  Anderson  found  that  sketch  on 
the  west  side  of  the  Strong  residence.  When  you  left 
your  plans  lying  on  a  table  before  a  window  in  the  Strong 
guest  room  the  night  before  you  came  to  San  Francisco 
you  did  not  know  that  the  santana  which  raged  through 
the  valley  a  day  or  two  previously  had  stripped  a  screen 
from  the  window  before  which  you  left  them.  In  open 
ing  your  door  to  establish  a  draught  before  you  went 
to  bed  you  started  one  that  carried  your  top  draw 
ing  through  the  window.  Waitihg  for  Miss  Strong 
the  next  morning,  in  making  a  circuit  of  the  grounds 
Anderson  found  it  and  appropriated  it  to  most  ex 
cellent  advantage.  Miss  Linda  tells  me  that  your 
study  of  architecture  was  discussed  at  the  dinner  table 
that  night.  He  could  not  have  helped  realizing  that 
any  sheet  of  plans  he  found  there  must  have  been 
yours.  If  he  could  acquit  his  conscience  of  taking  them 
and  using  them,  he  would  still  have  to  explain  why  he 
was  ready  to  accept  the  first  prize  and  the  conditions 
imposed  when  he  already  had  a  house  fairly  well  under 
construction  from  the  plans  he  submitted  in  the  contest. 


4H      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

The  rule  is  unbreakable  that  the  plans  must  be  original, 
must  be  unused,  must  be  our  sole  property,  if  they  take 
the  prize." 

Marian  was  leaning  forward,  her  eyes  wide  with  interest, 
her  breast  agitated.  She  nodded  in  acquiescence.  Eugene 
Snow  reached  across  and  helped  himself  to  another  piece 
of  candy  from  the  box  on  her  knee.  He  looked  at  her 
speculatively  and  spoke  quietly  as  if  the  matter  were  of  no 
great  importance. 

"Would  it  be  agreeable,  Marian,  if  the  prize  committee 
should  announce  that  there  were  reasons  as  to  why  they 
were  not  satisfied,  that  they  have  decided  to  return  all 
plans  and  call  off  the  present  contest,  opening  another  in 
a  few  months  in  which  interested  parties  may  again 
submit  their  drawings?  I  will  undertake  swiftly  and 
comprehensively  to  eliminate  Henry  Anderson  from 
California.  I  would  be  willing  to  venture  quite  a  sum 
that  when  I  finish  with  the  youngster  he  will  see  the 
beauty  of  going  straight  hereafter  and  the  desirability  of 
a  change  of  atmosphere.  He's  a  youngster.  I  hate  to 
make  the  matter  public,  not  only  on  account  of  involving 
you  and  your  friends  in  such  disagreeable  business,  but  I 
am  sorry  for  him.  I  would  like  to  deal  with  him  like  the 
proverbial  'Dutch  uncle',  then  I  would  like  to  send  him 
away  to  make  a  new  start  with  the  assurance  that  I  am 
keeping  close  watch  on  him.  Would  you  be  satisfied  if  I 
handled  the  matter  quietly  and  in  my  own  way?  Could 
you  wait  a  few  weeks  for  justice?" 

Marian  drew  a  deep  breath. 


PETER'S  RELEASE  415 

"Of  course,"  she  said;  "it  would  be  wonderful  if  you 
could  do  that.  But  what  about  Peter  Morrison?  How 
much  did  he  know  concerning  the  plans,  and  what  does  he 
know  about  this?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Snow.  "That  most  unusual 
young  friend  of  yours  made  me  see  the  light  very  clearly 
concerning  Peter  Morrison.  There  is  no  necessity  for 
him  ever  to  know  that  the  'dream  house',  as  Miss  Linda 
calls  it,  that  he  is  building  for  his  dream  woman  has  any 
disagreeable  history  attached  to  it.  He  so  loves  the  spot 
that  he  is  living  on  it  to  watch  that  house  in  minutest 
detail.  Miss  Linda  was  fairly  eloquent  in  the  plea  she 
made  on  his  behalf.  He  strikes  me  as  a  very  unusual 
person,  and  she  appealed  to  me  in  the  same  way. 
There  must  be  some  scientific  explanation  concerning 
her  that  I  don't  just  get,  but  I  can  see  that  she  is  most 
unusual.  When  I  watched  them  together  and  heard 
them  talk  of  their  plans  for  the  house  and  the  grounds  and 
discussing  illustrations  that  she  is  making  for  articles  that 
he  is  writing,  I  saw  how  deep  and  wholesome  was  the 
friendship  existing  between  them.  I  even  heard  that 
wonderful  serving  woman,  whom  they  so  familiarly  speak 
of  as  'Katy',  chiding  Peter  Morrison  for  allowing  Linda  to 
take  her  typewriter  to  him  and  do  her  own  work  with  a 
pen.  And  because  Miss  Linda  seems  so  great  hearted 
and  loving  with  her  friends,  I  was  rather  glad  to  hear  his 
explanation  that  they  were  merely  changing  machines  for 
the  time  being  for  a  very  particular  reason  of  their  own." 

"Do  you  mean,"  asked  Marian,  "that  you  think  there 


416  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

is  anything  more  than  casual  friendship  between  Linda 
and  Peter  Morrison?" 

"Not  on  her  part,"  answered  Eugene  Snow.  "Any 
body  can  see  that  she  is  a  child  deeply  engrossed  in  all  sorts 
of  affairs  uncommon  for  a  girl  of  her  age  and  position. 
Her  nice  perceptions,  her  wonderful  loyalty  to  her  friends, 
her  loving  thought  for  them,  are  manifest  in  everything 
she  says  or  does.  If  she  ever  makes  any  mistakes  they 
will  be  from  the  head,  not  from  the  heart.  But  for  the 
other  end  of  the  equation  I  could  speak  authoritatively. 
Katy  pointed  out  to  me  the  fact  that  if  I  would  watch 
Peter  Morrison  in  Miss  Linda's  presence,  I  should  see 
that  he  adored  her.  I  did  watch,  and  I  did  see  that  very 
thing.  When  I  taxed  him  about  building  a  dream  house 
for  a  dream  woman,  his  eyes  crossed  a  plateau,  leaped 
a  brook,  and  started  up  the  side  of  a  mountain.  They 
did  not  rest  until  they  had  found  Linda." 

Marian  sat  so  still  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  not  even 
breathing.  In  view  of  what  Katy  had  said,  and  his  few 
words  with  Peter  Morrison,  Eugene  Snow  had  felt 
justified  in  giving  Marian  a  hint  as  to  what  was  going  on  in 
Lilac  Valley.  Exactly  what  he  had  done  he  had  no 
means  of  knowing.  If  he  had  known  and  had  talked 
intentionally  he  could  not  have  made  clearer  to  Marian  the 
thing  which  for  months  had  puzzled  her.  She  was  aware 
that  Eugene  Snow  was  talking,  that  he  was  describing  the 
dinner  he  had  been  served,  the  wonderful  wild-flower  garden 
that  he  had  seen,  how  skilfully  Linda  drove  the  Bear-cat. 
She  heard  these  things  and  dimly  comprehended  them, 


PETER'S  RELEASE  417 

but  underneath,  her  brain  was  seizing  upon  one  fact  after 
another.  They  had  exchanged  typewriters.  The  poor, 
foolish  little  kid  had  known  how  her  heart  was  wracked, 
how  she  was  suffering,  how  her  pride  would  not  let  her 
stoop  to  Eileen's  subterfuges  and  wage  war  with  her 
implements  for  a  man  she  did  not  want  if  her  manner  of 
living  her  everyday  life  did  not  appeal  to  him.  Linda  had 
known  how  lonely  and  heart  hungry  and  disappointed  she 
had  gone  away,  and  loyally  she  had  tried  to  create  an 
interest  in  life  for  her;  and  she  had  succeeded  entirely  too 
well.  And  then  in  a  panic  she  must  have  gone  to  Peter 
Morrison  and  explained  the  situation;  and  Peter  must 
have  agreed  to  take  over  the  correspondence.  One  by 
one  things  that  had  puzzled  her  about  the  letters  and 
about  the  whole  affair  began  to  grow  clear.  She  even  saw 
how  Linda,  having  friendly  association  with  no  man  save 
Peter,  would  naturally  use  him  for  a  model.  The  trouble 
was  that,  with  her  gift  of  penetration  and  insight  and  her 
facility  with  her  pen,  she  had  overdone  the  matter.  She 
had  not  imitated  Peter;  she  had  been  Peter.  Marian 
arose  suddenly. 

She  went  home,  locked  the  door,  and  one  after  another 
she  read  the  letters  that  had  piqued,  amused,  comforted, 
and  finally  intrigued  her.  They  were  brilliant  letters, 
charming,  appealing  letters,  and  yet,  with  knowledge  con 
cerning  them,  Marian  wondered  how  she  could  have  failed 
to  appreciate  in  the  beginning  that  they  were  from  Linda. 

"It  goes  to  prove,"  she  said  at  last,  "how  hungry 
the  human  heart  is  for  love  and  sympathy.  And  that 


4i 8      HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

poor  kid,  what  she  must  have  suffered  when  she  went  to 
Peter  for  help!  And  if,  as  Mr.  Snow  thinks,  he  cares  for 
her,  how  he  must  have  suffered  before  he  agreed  to  help 
her,  as  no  doubt  he  did.  What  I  have  to  do  is  to  find 
some  way  out  of  the  situation  that  will  relieve  Linda's 
anxiety  and  at  least  partially  save  my  face.  I  shall  have 
to  take  a  few  days  to  work  it  out.  Luckily  I  haven't 
answered  my  last  letter.  When  I  find  out  what  I  really 
want  to  say  then  I  will  be  very  careful  how  I  say  it.  I 
don't  just  exactly  relish  having  my  letters  turned  over  to 
Peter  Morrison,  but  possibly  I  can  think  of  some  way — I 
must  think  of  some  way — to  make  them  feel  that  I  have 
not  been  any  more  credulous  than  they." 

While  she  thought,  both  Linda  and  Peter  were  doing 
much  thinking  on  the  same  subject.  Linda's  heart  was  full 
of  gratitude  to  Peter  for  helping  her  out  of  her  very  dis 
agreeable  situation.  Peter  had  not  yet  opened  the  packet 
of  letters  lying  on  his  table.  He  had  a  sickening  distaste 
for  the  whole  transaction.  He  had  thought  that  he  would 
wait  until  he  received  the  first  letter  he  was  to  answer.  If 
it  gave  him  sufficient  foundation  in  itself  for  the  answer, 
he  would  not  be  forced  to  search  further.  He  had  smoked 
many  pipes  on  this  decision.  After  the  visit  of  Mr.  Snow, 
Peter  had  seen  a  great  light  and  had  decided,  from  the 
mood  and  the  attitude  of  that  gentleman  after  his  inter 
view  with  Katy,  that  he  very  likely  would  be  equal  to  any 
complication  that  might  arise  when  he  reached  San  Fran 
cisco.  Mulling  over  the  situation  one  day  Peter  said  re 
flectively  to  the  spring  which  was  very  busy  talking  to 


PETER'S  RELEASE  419 

him:  "I  am  morally  certain  that  this  matter  has  resolved 
itself  into  a  situation  that  closely  resembles  the  bootblack's 
apple:  'they  ain't  goin'  to  be  any  core/  I  am  reasonably 
certain  that  I  never  shall  have  a  letter  to  answer.  In  a 
few  days  probably  I  shall  be  able  to  turn  back  that  packet 
to  Linda  without  having  opened  it." 

To  make  up  for  the  perturbation  which  had  resulted  in 
failure  in  class  and  two  weeks  of  work  that  represented 
her  worst  appearances  in  high-school  history,  Linda,  her 
mind  freed  from  the  worry  over  Marian's  plans,  and  her 
heart  calmer  over  the  fiasco  in  trying  to  comfort  her, 
devoted  herself  absorbingly  to  her  lessons  and  to  the 
next  magazine  article  that  she  must  finish.  She  had 
decided  that  it  was  time  to  write  on  the  subject  of  Indian 
confections.  Her  first  spare  minute  she  and  Katy  must 
busy  themselves  working  out  the  most  delicious  cactus 
candy  possible.  Then  they  could  try  the  mesquite  candy. 
No  doubt  she  could  evolve  a  delicious  gum  from  the  mes 
quite  and  the  incense  plant.  She  knew  she  could  from  the 
willow  milkweed;  and  under  the  head  of  "sweets"  an 
appetizing  jelly  from  manzanita.  There  were  delightful 
drinks  too,  from  the  manzanita  and  the  chia.  And  better 
than  either,  the  lemonade  berry  would  serve  this  purpose. 
She  had  not  experimented  to  an  authoritative  extent  with 
the  desert  pickles.  And  among  drinks  she  might  use  the 
tea  made  from  blue-eyed  grass,  brewed  by  the  Indians  for 
feverish  conditions;  and  there  was  a  whole  world  of 
interest  to  open  up  in  differing  seeds  and  berries,  parched 
or  boiled  for  food.  And  there  were  the  seeds  that  were 


420  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ground  for  mush,  like  the  thistle  sage,  and  the  mock  orange 
which  was  food  and  soap  also,  and  the  wild  sunflowers  that 
were  parched  for  meal,  and  above  all,  the  acorns.  She 
could  see  that  her  problem  was  not  going  to  be  one  of 
difficulty  in  securing  sufficient  material  for  her  book;  it 
would  be  how  to  find  time  to  gather  all  these  things, 
and  put  them  through  the  various  processes  and  combina 
tions  necessary  to  make  edibk  dishes  from  them.  It 
would  mean  a  long  summer  of  interesting  and  absorbing 
work  for  her  and  for  Katy.  Much  of  it  could  not  be  done 
until  the  summer  was  far  advanced  and  the  seeds  and 
the  berries  were  ripe.  She  could  rely  on  Donald  to  help 
her  search  for  the  material.  With  only  herself  and  Katy  in 
the  family  they  could  give  much  of  their  time  to  the  work. 

"Where  Katy  will  rebel,"  said  Linda  to  herself,  "is 
when  it  comes  to  gathering  sufficient  seeds  and  parching 
them  to  make  these  meal  and  mush  dishes.  She  will 
call  it  'fiddlin'  business/  She  shall  be  propitiated  with 
a  new  dress  and  a  beautiful  bonnet,  and  she  shall  go 
with  me  frequently  to  the  fields.  The  old  dear  loves  to 
ride.  First  thing  I  do  I'll  call  at  the  bank  again  and  have 
our  affairs  properly  straightened  and  settled  there  in  the 
light  of  the  letter  Daddy  left  me.  Then  I  shall  have  money 
to  get  all  the  furniture  and  the  rugs  and  things  we  truly 
need.  I'll  repaint  the  kitchen  and  get  Katy  some  new 
cooking  utensils  to  gladden  her  soul.  And  Saturday  I 
must  make  my  trip  with  Donald  account  for  something 
worth  while  on  the  book." 

All  these  plans  were  feasible.     What  Linda  had  to  do 


PETER'S  RELEASE  421 

was  to  accomplish  them,  and  this  she  proceeded  to  do  in  a 
swift  and  business-like  manner.  She  soon  reached  the 
place  where  the  whole  house  with  the  exception  of  Eileen's 
suite  had  been  gone  over,  freshened  and  refurnished  to  her 
liking.  The  guest-room  furniture  had  been  moved  to  her 
rejuvenated  room.  On  the  strength  of  her  returns  from 
the  book  she  had  disposed  of  her  furniture  and  was  find 
ing  much  girlish  delight  in  occupying  a  beautiful  room, 
daintily  decorated,  comfortably  furnished  with  pieces  of 
her  own  selection.  As  she  and  Katy  stood  looking  over 
their  work  when  everything  was  ready  for  her  first  night 
of  occupancy  Katy  had  said  to  her: 

"It's  jist  right  and  proper,  lambie;  it's  jist  the  way  it 
ought  to  be;  and  now  say  the  word  and  let  me  clean  out 
Eileen's  suate  and  get  it  ready  for  Miss  Marian,  so  if  she 
would  drop  down  unexpected  she  would  find  we  was  good 
as  our  word." 

"All  right,"  said  Linda. 

"And  what  am  I  to  do  with  the  stuff?"  inquired  Katy. 

"Katy,  my  dear,"  said  Linda  with  a  dry  laugh,  "you'll 
think  I  am  foolish,  but  I  have  the  queerest  feeling  con 
cerning  those  things.  I  can't  feel  that  Eileen  has  done 
with  them;  I  can't  feel  that  she  will  never  want  them 
again;  I  can't  feel  that  they  should  go  to  some  second 
hand  basement.  Pack  all  of  her  clothing  that  you  can 
manage  in  her  trunk  and  put  it  in  the  garret,  and  what  the 
trunk  won't  hold  pack  in  a  tight  box  and  put  that  in  the 
garret  also.  She  hasn't  written  me  a  line;  she  has  sent 
me  no  address;  I  don't  know  what  to  do;  but,  as  I  have 


422  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

said  before,  I  am  going  to  save  the  things  at  least  a  year 
and  see  whether  some  day  Eileen  won't  think  of  something 
she  wants  to  do  with  them.  Clean  the  rooms  and  I  will 
order  Marian's  things  sent." 

According  to  these  arrangements  it  was  only  a  few  days 
until  Linda  wrote  Marian  that  her  room  was  ready  for  her 
and  that  any  time  she  desired  to  come  and  take  possession 
she  could  test  the  lovingness  of  the  welcome  that  awaited 
her  by  becoming  intimately  acquainted  with  it.  Marian 
answered  the  letter  immediately.  She  said  that  she  was 
planning  to  come  very  soon  to  test  that  welcome.  She 
longed  for  the  quiet  of  the  valley,  for  its  cool,  clean,  wild 
air.  She  was  very  tired;  she  needed  rest.  She  thought 
she  would  love  the  new  home  they  were  offering  her. 
Then  came  two  amazing  paragraphs. 

The  other  day  Dana  and  I  went  into  one  of  the  big  cafe's  in 
the  city  to  treat  ourselves  to  a  taste  of  the  entertainment  with 
which  the  people  of  wealth  regale  themselves.  We  had  wan 
dered  in  laughingly  jesting  about  what  we  should  order,  and  ran 
into  Eileen  in  the  company  of  her  aunt  and  uncle  and  a  very 
flashy  and  loudly  dressed  young  man,  evidently  a  new  suitor 
of  Eileen's.  I  don't  think  Eileen  wanted  to  introduce  us,  and 
yet  she  acted  like  a  person  ravenous  for  news  of  her  home  and 
friends.  She  did  introduce  us,  and  immediately  her  ponderous 
uncle  took  possession  of  us.  It  seems  that  the  man  is  a  brother 
of  Eileen's  mother.  Linda,  he  is  big  and  gross,  he  is  everything 
that  a  man  of  nice  perceptions  would  not  be,  but  he  does  love 
Eileen.  He  is  trying  conscientiously  to  please  her.  His  wife  is 
the  kind  of  person  who  would  marry  that  kind  of  man  and  think 
everything  he  said  and  did  was  right.  And  the  suitor,  my  dear, 


PETER'S  RELEASE  423 

was  the  kind  of  man  who  could  endure  that  kind  of  people.  Eileen 
was  almost,  if  not  quite,  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  have  seen. 
She  was  plain;  she  was  simple;  but  it  was  the  costly  simplicity 
of  extravagance.  Ye  gods !  but  she  had  pearls  of  the  size  she  had 
always  wanted.  She  tried  with  all  her  might  to  be  herself,  but 
she  knows  me  well  enough  to  know  what  I  would  think  and  what 
I  would  write  to  you  concerning  the  conditions  under  which  I 
met  her.  We  were  simply  forced  to  lunch  with  them.  We  could 
only  nibble  at  the  too  rich,  too  highly  seasoned  food  set  before 
us.  And  I  noticed  that  Eileen  nibbled  also.  She  is  not  going 
to  grow  fat  and  waddle  and  redden  her  nose,  but,  my  dear,  back 
deep  in  her  eyes  and  in  the  curve  of  her  lips  and  in  the  tone  of 
her  voice  there  were  such  disappointment  and  discontent  as  I 
never  have  seen  in  any  woman.  She  could  not  suppress  them; 
she  could  not  conceal  them.  There  was  nothing  on  earth  she 
could  do  but  sit  quietly  and  endure.  They  delivered  us  at  our 
respective  offices,  leaving  both  of  us  dates  on  which  to  visit  them, 
but  neither  of  us  intends  to  call  on  them.  Eileen's  face  was  a 
tragedy  when  her  uncle  insisted  on  making  the  arrangements. 
I  can  at  least  spare  her  that. 

And  now,  my  dear,  life  is  growing  so  full  and  my  time  is  so 
taken  with  my  work  at  the  office  and  with  my  widening  friend 
ships  with  Dana  and  her  friends  and  with  Mr.  Snow,  that  I 
really  feel  I  have  not  time  to  go  farther  with  our  anonymous 
correspondence.  It  is  all  I  can  do  to  find  time  to  write  you 
letters  such  as  the  one  I  am  writing.  I  have  done  my  best  to 
play  up  to  what  you  expected  of  me  and  I  think  I  have  succeeded 
in  fooling  you  quite  as  much  as  you  have  felt  that  you  were 
fooling  me.  But,  Linda  dear,  I  want  you  always  to  know  that 
I  appreciate  the  spirit  in  which  you  began  this  thing.  I  know 
why  you  did  it  and  I  shall  always  love  you  a  trifle  more  for  your 
thought  of  me  and  your  effort  to  tide  over  the  very  dark  days 
you  knew  I  would  be  facing  in  San  Francisco.  I  think,  dear 
friend  of  mine,  that  I  have  had  my  share  of  dark  days.  I  think 


424  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

there  is  very  beautiful  sunlight  ahead  for  me.  And  by  and  by 
I  hope  to  come  into  happiness  that  maybe  is  even  more  than  my 
share.  I  am  coming  to  see  you  soon  and  then  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it. 

There  was  more  of  the  letter,  but  at  that  point  Linda, 
made  one  headlong  rush  for  the  Bear-cat.  She  took  the 
curve  on  two  wheels  and  almost  ran  into  the  mountain 
face  behind  the  garage  before  she  could  slow  down.  Then 
she  set  the  Cat  screaming  wildly  for  Peter.  As  he  came  up 
to  the  car  she  leaned  toward  him,  shaking  with  excitement. 

"Peter,"  she  cried,  "have  you  opened  that  packet  of 
letters  yet?" 

"No,"  said  Peter,  "I  have  not." 

"Then  give  them  to  me  quickly,  Peter,"  said  Linda. 

Peter  rushed  into  the  garage  and  brought  out  the 
packet.  Linda  caught  it  in  both  hands  and  dropped  it  in 
her  lap. 

"Well,  thank  God,"  she  said  devoutly.  "And,  Peter, 
the  joke's  on  me.  Marian  knew  I  was  writing  those 
letters  all  the  time  and  she  just  pretended  that  she  cared 
for  them  to  make  the  game  interesting  for  me.  And  when 
she  had  so  many  friends  and  so  much  to  do,  she  hadn't 
time  for  them  any  longer;  then  she  pretended  that  she 
was  getting  awfully  in  earnest  in  order  to  stop  me,  and 
she  did  stop  me  all  right." 

Linda's  face  was  a  small  panorama  of  conflicting  emo 
tions  as  she  appealed  to  Peter. 

"Peter,"  she  said  in  a  quivering  voice,  "you  can  testify 
that  she  stopped  me  properly,  can't  you,  Peter?" 


PETER'S  RELEASE  425 

Peter  tried  to  smile.  He  was  older  than  Linda,  and  he 
was  thinking  swiftly,  intently. 

"Yes,  kid,"  he  said  with  utmost  corroboration,  "yes, 
kid,  she  stopped  you,  but  I  can't  see  that  it  was  nec 
essary  literally  to  scare  the  life  out  of  you  till  she  had 
you  at  the  point  where  you  were  thinking  of  taking  off 
from  a  mountain  or  into  the  sea.  Did  you  really  mean 
that,  Linda?" 

Linda  relaxed  suddenly.  She  sank  back  into  the 
deeply  padded  seat  of  the  Bear-cat.  A  look  of  fright  and 
entreaty  swept  into  her  dark  eyes. 

"Yes,  Peter,  I  did  mean  it,"  she  said  with  finality.  "I 
couldn't  have  lived  if  I  had  hurt  Marian  irreparably. 
She  has  been  hurt  so  much  already.  And,  Peter,  it  was 
awfully  nice  of  you  to  wait  about  reading  these  letters. 
Even  if  she  only  did  it  for  a  joke,  I  think  Marian  would 
rather  that  you  had  not  read  them.  Now  I'll  go  back 
home  and  begin  to  work  in  earnest  on  the  head  piece 
of  'How  to  Grow  Good  Citizens.'  And  I  quite  agree  with 
you,  Peter,  that  the  oath  of  allegiance,  citizenship,  and 
the  title  to  a  piece  of  real  estate  are  the  prime  requisites. 
People  have  no  business  coming  to  our  country  to  earn 
money  that  they  intend  to  carry  away  to  invest  in  the 
development  and  the  strengthening  of  some  other  country 
that  may  some  day  be  our  worst  enemy.  I  have  not 
found  out  yet  how  to  say  it  in  a  four-by-twelve-inch  strip, 
but  by  the  time  I  have  read  the  article  aloud  to  my  skylight 
along  about  ten  to-night  I'll  get  an  inspiration;  I  am  sure 
I  shall." 


426  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Of  course  you  will,"  said  Peter;  "but  don't  worry 
about  it,  dear;  don't  lose  sleep.  Take  things  slower.  Give 
time  for  a  little  more  flesh  to  grow  on  your  bones.  And 
don't  forget  that  while  you're  helping  Donald  to  keep  at 
the  head  of  his  classes  it's  your  first  job  to  keep  at  the 
head  of  your  own." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Linda.  "How  is  the  dream  com 
ing?" 

"Beautifully,"  said  Peter.  "One  of  these  days  you're 
going  to  come  rushing  around  the  boulders  and  down  the 
side  of  the  building  to  find  all  this  debris  cleared  away  and 
the  place  for  a  lawn  levelled.  I  am  fighting  down  every 
possible  avenue  of  expense  on  the  building  in  the  effort 
to  save  money  to  make  the  brook  run  and  the  road 
wind  where  you  have  indicated  that  you  want  them  to 
follow  you." 

Linda  looked  at  Peter  while  a  queer,  reflective  light 
gathered  in  her  eyes.  At  last  she  said  soberly:  "Well,  I 
don't  know,  Peter,  that  you  should  make  them  so  very 
personal  to  me  as  all  that." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Peter  casually.  "Since  there  is  no 
one  else,  why  not?" 

Linda  released  the  clutch  and  started  the  car.  She 
backed  in  front  of  the  garage  and  turned.  She  was  still 
thinking  deeply  as  she  stopped.  Once  again  she  ex 
tended  a  hand  to  Peter. 

"Thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  not  reading  these 
letters,  Peter,"  she  said.  "I  can't  express  how  awfully 
fine  I  think  it  is  of  you.  And  if  it's  all  right  with  you, 


PETER'S  RELEASE  427 

perhaps  there's  not  any  real  reason  why  you  should  not 
run  that  brook  and  drive  that  road  the  way  I  think  they 
should  go.  Somebody  is  going  to  design  them.  Why 
shouldn't  I,  if  it  pleases  you  to  have  me?" 

"It  pleases  me  very  greatly,"  said  Peter — "more  than 
anything  else  I  can  think  of  in  all  the  world  at  this  minute." 

And  then  he  did  a  thing  that  he  had  done  once  or  twice 
before.  He  bent  back  Linda's  ringers  and  left  another 
kiss  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and  then  he  closed  her 
fingers  very  tightly  over  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST 

THE  middle  of  the  week  Linda  had  told  Katy 
that  she  intended  stocking  up  the  Bear-cat  for 
three  and  that  she  would  take  her  along  on  the 
next  Saturday's  trip  to  her  canyon  kitchen.  It  was  a 
day  upon  which  she  had  planned  to  gather  greens,  vege 
tables,  and  roots,  and  prepare  a  dinner  wholly  from  the 
wild.  She  was  fairly  sure  exactly  where  in  nature  she 
would  find  the  materials  she  wanted,  but  she  knew  that 
the  search  would  be  long  and  tiring.  It  would  be  jolly 
to  have  Katy  to  help  her  prepare  the  lunch.  It  would 
please  Katy  immensely  to  be  taken;  and  the  original  things 
she  said  in  her  quaint  Irish  brogue  greatly  amused  Donald. 
The  arrangement  had  been  understood  among  them  for 
some  time,  so  they  all  started  on  their  journey  filled 
with  happy  expectations.  They  closed  the  house  and 
the  garage  carefully.  Linda  looked  over  the  equipment 
of  the  Bear-cat  minutely,  making  sure  that  her  field  axe, 
saw,  knives,  and  her  field  glasses  were  in  place.  Because 
more  food  than  usual  was  to  be  prepared  in  the  kitchen 
they  took  along  a  nest  of  cooking  vessels  and  a  broiler. 
They  found  Donald  waiting  before  either  of  them  were 
ready,  and  in  great  glee,  with  much  laughing  and  many 

428 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       429 

jests  they  rolled  down  the  valley  in  the  early  morning. 
They  drove  to  the  kitchen,  spread  their  blankets,  set 
up  their  table,  and  arranged  the  small  circular  opening 
for  their  day's  occupancy.  While  Katy  and  Linda 
were  busy  with  these  affairs  Donald  took  the  axe  and 
collected  a  big  heap  of  wood.  Then  they  left  Katy  to 
burn  the  wood  and  have  a  deep  bed  of  coals  ready  while 
they  started  out  to  collect  from  the  canyon  walls,  the  foot 
of  the  mountains,  and  the  near-by  desert  the  materials 
they  would  use  for  their  dinner. 

Just  where  the  desert  began  to  climb  the  mountain 
Linda  had  for  a  long  time  watched  a  big  bed  of  amole. 
Donald  used  the  shovel,  she  the  hatchet,  and  soon  they 
had  brought  to  the  surface  such  a  quantity  that  Donald 
protested. 

"  But  I  have  two  uses  for  them  to-day,"  explained  Linda. 
"They  must  serve  for  potatoes  and  they  have  to  furnish 


our  meat." 


"Oh,  I  get  you,"  said  Donald.  "I  have  always  been 
crazy  to  try  that." 

So  he  began  to  dig  again  enthusiastically. 

"Now  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  we  had  better  do," 
said  Linda.  "We  will  skirmish  around  this  side  of  the 
mountain  and  find  a  very  nice  tender  yucca  shoot;  and 
then  we'll  take  these  back  to  Katy  and  let  her  bury  them 
in  the  ashes  and  keep  up  the  fire  while  we  forage  for  the 
remainder  of  our  wild  Indian  feast." 

Presently  they  found  a  yucca  head  that  Linda  said  was 
exactly  right,  a  delicate  pink,  thicker  than  her  wrist  and 


430  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

two  feet  in  length.  With  this  and  the  amole  they  ran 
back  to  Katy.  She  knew  how  to  prepare  the  amole  for 
roasting.  Linda  gave  her  a  few  words  of  instruction  con 
cerning  the  yucca.  Then  from  the  interior  of  the  Bear 
cat  she  drew  a  tightly  rolled  section  of  wire  window 
screening.  Just  where  a  deep,  wide  pool  narrowed  at  a 
rocky  defile  they  sank  the  screening,  jammed  it  well  to 
the  bottom,  fastened  it  tight  at  the  sides,  and  against  the 
current  side  of  it  they  threw  leaves,  grass,  chunks  of  moss, 
any  debris  they  could  gather  that  would  make  a  temporary 
dam.  Then,  standing  on  one  side  with  her  field  knife, 
Linda  began  to  slice  the  remainder  of  the  amole  very 
thin  and  to  throw  it  over  the  surface  of  the  pool.  On 
the  other,  Donald  pounded  the  big,  juicy  bulbs  to  pulp 
and  scattered  it  broadcast  over  the  water.  Linda  in 
structed  Katy  to  sit  on  the  bank  with  a  long-handled 
landing  net  and  whenever  a  trout  arose,  to  snatch  it  out  as 
speedily  as  possible,  being  careful  not  to  take  more  than 
they  would  require. 

Then  the  two  youngsters,  exhilarated  with  youth,  with 
living,  with  the  joy  of  friendship,  with  the  lure  of  the 
valley,  with  the  heady  intoxication  of  the  salt  breeze  and 
the  gold  of  the  sunshine,  climbed  into  the  Bear-cat  and 
went  rolling  through  the  canyon  and  out  to  the  valley 
on  the  far  side.  Here  they  gathered  the  tenderest  heart 
shoots  of  the  lupin  until  Linda  said  they  had  enough. 
Then  to  a  particular  spot  that  she  knew  on  the  desert  they 
hurried  for  the  enlarged  stems  of  the  desert  trumpet  which 
was  to  serve  that  day  for  an  appetizer  in  the  stead  of 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       431 

pickles.  Here,  too,  they  filled  a  bucket  from  the  heart  of 
a  big  Bisnaga  cactus  as  a  basis  for  their  drink.  Among 
Katherine  O'Donovan's  cooking  utensils  there  was  a  box 
of  delicious  cactus  candy  made  from  the  preserved  and 
sun-dried  heart  meat  of  this  same  fruit  which  was  to  serve 
as  their  confection.  On  the  way  back  they  stopped  at 
the  bridge  and  gathered  cress  for  their  salad.  When  they 
returned  to  Katy  she  had  five  fine  trout  lying  in  the  shade, 
and  with  more  experienced  eyes  and  a  more  skilful  hand 
Linda  in  a  few  minutes  doubled  this  number.  Then  they 
tore  out  the  dam,  rinsed  the  screen  and  spread  it  over  a 
rock  to  dry.  While  Donald  scaled  the  fish  Linda  put 
the  greens  to  cook,  prepared  the  salad  and  set  the  table. 
Once,  as  he  worked  under  her  supervision,  Linda  said 
to  Donald:  "Now  about  bread,  kid — there's  not  going  to 
be  any  bread,  because  the  Indians  did  not  have  it  when 
they  lived  the  way  we  are  living  to-day.  When  you  reach 
the  place  where  your  left  hand  feels  empty  without  a 
piece  of  bread  in  it,  just  butter  up  another  amole  and 
try  it.  It  will  serve  the  same  purpose  as  bread,  and  be 
much  better  for  the  inner  man." 

" If  you  would  let  me  skin  these  fish,"  said  Donald,  "I 
could  do  it  much  faster  and  make  a  better  job  of  it." 

"But  you  shouldn't  skin  them;  you  want  the  skin  to 
hold  the  meat  together  when  it  begins  to  cook  tender; 
and  you  should  be  able  to  peel  it  off  and  discard  it  if  it 
burns  or  gets  smoky  in  the  cooking.  It's  a  great  conces 
sion  to  clean  them  as  we  do.  The  Indians  cooked  them 
in  the  altogether  and  ate  the  meat  from  the  bones." 


432  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Oh  my  tummy!"  said  Donald.  "I  always  thought 
there  was  some  dark  secret  about  the  Indians." 

Linda  sat  on  a  rock  opposite  him  and  clasped  her  hands 
around  her  knees.  She  looked  at  him  meditatively. 

"Did  you?"  she  asked.  "Suppose  you  revise  that 
opinion.  Our  North  American  Indians  in  their  original 
state  were  as  fine  as  any  peoples  that  ever  have  been  dis 
covered  the  round  of  the  globe.  My  grandfather  came 
into  intimate  contact  with  them  in  the  early  days,  and  he 
said  that  their  religion,  embracing  the  idea  of  a  great 
spirit  to  whom  they  were  responsible  for  their  deeds  here, 
and  a  happy  hunting  ground  to  which  they  went  as  a 
reward  for  decent  living,  was  as  fine  as  any  religion  that 
ever  has  been  practised  by  people  of  any  nation.  Im 
morality  was  unknown  among  them.  Family  ties  were 
formed  and  they  were  binding.  They  loved  their  chil 
dren  and  reared  them  carefully.  They  were  hardy  and 
healthful.  Until  the  introduction  of  whiskey  and  what 
we  are  pleased  to  term  civilized  methods  of  living,  very 
few  of  them  died  save  from  war  or  old  age.  They  were 
free;  they  were  happy.  The  moping,  lazy,  diseased 
creature  that  you  find  sleeping  in  the  sun  around  the 
reservations  is  a  product  of  our  civilization.  Nice  com 
mentary  on  civilization,  isn't  it?" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Linda,"  said  Donald,  "don't  start 
any  big  brainstorming  trains  of  thought  to-day!  Grant 
me  repose.  I  have  overworked  my  brain  for  a  few  months 
past  until  I  know  only  one  thing  for  certain." 

"All  right  then,  me  lad,  this  is  the  time  for  the  big  se- 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       433 

cret,"  said  Linda.  "I  just  happened  to  be  in  the  assembly 
room  on  some  business  of  my  own  last  Thursday  after 
noon  when  my  sessions  were  over,  and  I  overheard  your 
professor  in  trigonometry  tell  a  man  I  did  not  know,  who 
seemed  to  be  a  friend  visiting  him,  that  the  son  of  Judge 
Whiting  was  doing  the  finest  work  that  ever  had  been 
done  in  any  of  the  Los  Angeles  high  schools,  and  that  un 
doubtedly  you  were  going  to  graduate  with  higher  honours 
than  any  other  boy  ever  had  from  that  school." 

Donald  sat  thinking  this  over.  He  absently  lifted  an 
elbow  and  wiped  the  tiny  scales  from  his  face  with  his 
shirt  sleeve. 

"Young  woman,"  he  said  solemnly,  "them  things  what 
you're  saying,  are  they  'cross  your  heart,  honest  to 
goodness,  so  help  you',  truth,  or  are  they  the  fruit  of  a 
perfervid  imagination?" 

Linda  shook  her  head  vigorously. 

"De  trut',  kid,"  she  said,  "de  gospel  trut'.  You  have 
the  Jap  going  properly.  He  can't  stop  you  now.  You 
have  fought  your  good  fight,  and  you  have  practically 
won  it.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  carry  on  till  the  middle  of 
June,  and  you're  It." 

"I  wish  Dad  knew,"  said  Donald  in  a  low  voice. 

"The  Judge  does  know,"  said  Linda  heartily.  "It 
wasn't  fifteen  minutes  after  I  heard  that  till  I  had  him 
on  the  telephone  repeating  it  as  fast  as  I  could  repeat. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  haven't  you  noticed  a  particularly 
cocky  set  of  his  head  and  a  corksome  lightness  about  his 
heels  during  the  past  few  days?" 


434  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"By  Jove,  he  has  been  happy  about  something!"  said 
Donald.  "And  I  noticed  that  Louise  and  the  Mater 
were  sort  of  cheery  and  making  a  specialty  of  the  only 
son  and  brother." 

"Sure,  brother,  sure,"  said  Linda.  "Hurry  up  and 
scrape  those  fish  and  let's  scamper  down  the  canyon 
merely  for  the  joy  of  flying  with  wings  on  our  feet. 
You're  It,  young  man,  just  It!" 

Donald  was  sitting  on  a  boulder.  On  another  in  front  of 
him  he  was  operating  on  the  trout.  His  hands  were  soiled ; 
his  hair  was  tousled;  he  was  fairly  well  decorated  with 
fine  scales.  He  looked  at  Linda  appealingly. 

"Am  I  'It'  with  you,  Linda?"  he  asked  soberly. 

"Sure  you  are,"  said  Linda.  "You're  the  best  friend 
I  have." 

"Will  you  write  to  me  when  I  go  to  college  this  fall?" 

"Why,  you  couldn't  keep  me  from  it,"  said  Linda. 
"I'll  have  so  many  things  to  tell  you.  And  when  your 
first  vacation  comes  we'll  make  it  a  hummer." 

"I  know  Dad  won't  let  me  come  home  for  my  holidays 
except  for  the  midsummer  ones,"  said  Donald  soberly. 
"It  would  take  most  of  the  time  there  would  be  of  the 
short  holidays  to  travel  back  and  forth." 

"You  will  have  to  go  very  carefully  about  getting  a 
start,"  said  Linda,  "and  you  should  be  careful  to  find  the 
right  kind  of  friends  at  the  very  start.  Christmas  and 
Thanksgiving  boxes  can  always  be  sent  on  time  to  reach 
you.  It  won't  be  so  long  for  you  as  for  us;  and  by  the 
time  you  have  Oka  Sayye  beaten  to  ravellings  you  will 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       435 

have  such  a  'perfect  habit'  that  you  will  start  right  in  with 
the  beating  idea.  That  should  keep  you  fairly  busy,  be 
cause  most  of  the  men  you  come  up  against  will  be 
beaters  themselves." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Donald.  "Are  you  going  to  start 
me  to  college  with  the  idea  that  I  have  to  keep  up  this 
beating  habit?  If  I  were  to  be  one  of  fifty  or  a  hundred, 
wouldn't  that  be  good  enough  ? " 

"Why,  sure,"  said  Linda,  "if  you  will  be  satisfied  with 
having  me  like  fifty  or  a  hundred  as  well  as  I  do  you." 

"Oh,  damn!"  said  Donald  angrily.  "Do  I  have  to 
keep  up  this  top-crust  business  all  my  days?" 

Linda  looked  at  him  with  a  queer  smile  on  her  lips. 

"Not  unless  you  want  to,  Donald,"  she  said  quietly; 
"not  unless  you  think  you  would  rather." 

Donald  scraped  a  fish  vigorously.  Linda  sat  watching 
him.  Presently  the  tense  lines  around  his  eyes  vanished. 
A  faint  red  crept  up  his  neck  and  settled  on  his  left  cheek 
bone.  A  confused  grin  slowly  widened  his  naturally 
wide  mouth. 

"Then  it's  me  for  the  top  crust,"  he  said  conclu 
sively. 

"Then  it's  me  for  you,"  answered  Linda  in  equally  as 
matter-of-fact  tones;  and  rising,  she  gathered  up  the  fish 
and  carried  them  to  Katy  while  Donald  knelt  beside  the 
chilly  stream  and  scoured  his  face  and  hands,  after  which 
Linda  whipped  away  the  scales  with  an  improvised  brush 
of  willow  twigs. 

It  was  such  a  wonderful  day;  it  was  such  an  unusual  and 


436  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

delicious  feast.  Plump  brook  trout,  fresh  from  icy  water, 
delicately  broiled  over  searing  wood  coals,  are  the  finest  of 
food.  Through  the  meal  to  the  point  where  Donald  lay 
on  his  back  at  the  far  curve  of  the  canyon  wall,  nibbling 
a  piece  of  cactus  candy,  everything  had  been  perfect. 
Nine  months  would  be  a  long  time  to  be  gone,  but  Linda 
would  wait  for  him,  and  she  would  write  to  him.  He 
raised  his  head  on  his  elbow  and  called  across  to  her: 
"Say,  Linda,  how  often  will  you  write  to  me?" 

Linda  answered  promptly:  "Every  Saturday  night. 
Saturday  is  our  day.  I'll  tell  you  what  has  happened  all 
the  week.  I'll  tell  you  specially  what  a  darned  unprofit 
able  day  Saturday  is  when  you're  three  thousand  miles 
away." 

Bending  over  the  canyon  fireplace,  her  face  red  with 
heat  and  exertion,  Katherine  O'Donovan  caught  up  her 
poker  and  beat  up  the  fire  until  the  ashes  flew. 

"Easy,  Katy,  easy,"  cautioned  Linda.  "We  may  want 
to  bury  those  coals  and  resurrect  them  to  warm  up  what  is 
left  for  supper." 

"We'll  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Katy  promptly.  "What 
remains  goes  to  feed  the  fish.  Next  time  it's  hungry  ye 
are,  we're  goin'  to  hit  it  straight  to  Lilac  Valley  and  fill 
ourselves  with  God's  own  bread  and  beefsteak  and 
parades.  Don't  ye  think  we're  goin'  to  be  atin'  these 
haythen  messes  twice  in  one  day." 

To  herself  she  was  saying:  "The  sooner  I  get  you  home 
to  Pater  Morrison,  missy,  the  better  I'll  be  satisfied." 

Once  she  stood  erect,  her  hands  at  her  belt,  her  elbows 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       437 

widespread,  and  with  narrowed  eyes  watched  the  young 
sters.  Her  lips  were  closed  so  tightly  they  wrinkled  curi 
ously  as  she  turned  back  to  the  fireplace. 

"Nayther  one  of  them  fool  kids  has  come  to  yet,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "and  a  mighty  good  thing  it  is  that  they 
haven't." 

Linda  was  looking  speculatively  at  Donald  as  he  lay 
stretched  on  the  Indian  blanket  at  the  base  of  the  cliff. 
And  then,  because  she  was  for  ever  busy  with  Nature,  her 
eyes  strayed  above  him  up  the  side  of  the  cliff,  noting  the 
vegetation,  the  scarred  rocks,  the  sheer  beauty  of  the  can 
yon  wall  until  they  reached  the  top.  Then,  for  no  reason 
at  all,  she  sat  looking  steadily  at  a  huge  boulder  overhang 
ing  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  she  was  wondering  how  many 
ages  it  had  hung  there  and  how  many  more  it  would  hang, 
poised  almost  in  air,  when  a  tiny  pebble  at  its  base  loosened 
and  came  rattling  and  bounding  down  the  canyon  face. 
Every  nerve  in  Linda  tensed.  She  opened  her  mouth, 
but  not  a  sound  came.  For  a  breathless  second  she  was 
paralyzed.  Then  she  shrieked  wildly:  "Donald,  Donald, 
roll  under  the  ledge!  Quick,  quick!" 

She  turned  to  Katy. 

"Back,  Katy,  back!"  she  screamed.  "That  boulder  is 
loose;  it's  coming  down!" 

For  months  Donald  Whiting  had  obeyed  Linda  implic 
itly  and  instantly.  He  had  moved  with  almost  invisible 
speed  at  her  warning  many  times  before.  Sometimes  it 
had  been  a  venomous  snake,  sometimes  a  yucca  bayonet, 
sometimes  poison  vines,  again  unsafe  footing — in  each  case 


438  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

instant  obedience  had  been  the  rule.  He  did  not  "ques 
tion  why"  at  her  warning;  he  instantly  did  as  he  was  told. 
He,  too,  had  noticed  the  falling  pebble.  With  all  the  agility 
of  which  he  was  capable  he  rolled  under  the  narrow  pro 
jecting  ledge  above  him.  Katherine  O'Donovan  was  a 
good  soldier  also.  She  whirled  and  ran  to  the  roadway. 
She  had  barely  reached  it  when,  with  a  grinding  crash, 
down  came  the  huge  boulder,  carrying  bushes,  smaller 
rocks,  sand,  and  debris  with  it.  On  account  of  its  weight 
it  fell  straight,  struck  heavily,  and  buried  itself  in  the  earth 
exactly  on  the  spot  upon  which  Donald  had  been  lying. 
Linda  raised  terrified  eyes  to  the  top  of  the  wall.  For 
one  instant  a  dark  object  peered  over  it  and  then  drew 
back.  Without  thought  for  herself  Linda  rushed  to  the 
boulder,  and  kneeling,  tried  to  see  back  of  it. 

"Donald!"  she  cried,  "Donald,  are  you  all  right?" 

"Guess  I  am,  unless  it  hit  one  foot  pretty  hard.  Feels 
fast." 

"  Can  you  get  out  ? "  she  cried,  beginning  to  tear  with  her 
hands  at  the  stone  and  the  bushes  where  she  thought  his 
head  would  be. 

"I'm  fast;  but  I'm  all  right,"  he  panted.  "Why  the 
devil  did  that  thing  hang  there  for  ages,  and  then  come 
down  on  me  to-day?" 

"Yes,  why  did  it?"  gasped  Linda.  "Donald,  I  must 
leave  you  a  minute.  I've  got  to  know  if  I  saw  a  head  peer 
over  just  as  that  stone  came  down." 

"Be  careful  what  you  do!"  he  cried  after  her. 

Linda  sprang  to  her  feet  and  rushed  to  the  car.     She 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       439 

caught  out  the  field  glasses  and  threw  the  strap  over  her 
head  as  she  raced  to  the  far  side  of  the  fireplace  where  the 
walls  were  not  so  sheer.  Katherine  O'Donovan  promptly 
seized  the  axe,  caught  its  carrying  strap  lying  beside  it, 
thrust  the  handle  through,  swung  it  over  her  own  head, 
dropped  it  between  her  shoulders,  and  ripping  off  her  dress 
skirt  she  started  up  the  clifF  after  Linda.  Linda  was  climb 
ing  so  swiftly  and  so  absorbedly  that  she  reached  the 
top  before  she  heard  a  sound  behind  her.  Then  she  turned 
with  a  white  face,  and  her  mouth  dropped  open  as  she 
saw  Katy  three  fourths  of  the  way  up  the  cliff.  For  one 
second  she  was  again  stiff"  with  terror,  then,  feeling  she 
could  do  nothing,  she  stepped  back  out  of  sight  and  waited 
a  second  until  Katy's  red  head  and  redder  face  appeared 
over  the  edge.  Realizing  that  her  authority  was  of  no 
avail,  that  Katy  would  follow  her  no  matter  where  she 
went  or  what  she  did,  and  with  no  time  to  argue,  Linda 
simply  called  to  her  encouragingly:  "Follow  where  I  go; 
take  your  time;  hang  tight,  old  dear,  it's  dangerous!" 

She  started  around  the  side  of  the  mountain,  heading 
almost  straight  upward,  travelling  as  swiftly  and  as  noise 
lessly  as  possible.  Over  big  boulders,  on  precarious  foot 
ing,  clinging  to  bushes,  they  made  their  way  until  they 
reached  a  place  that  seemed  to  be  sheer  above  them; 
certainly  it  was  for  hundreds  of  feet  below.  On  a  point 
of  rock  screened  by  overhanging  bushes  Linda  paused 
until  Katy  overtook  her. 

"We  are  about  stalled,"  she  panted.  "Find  a  good 
footing  and  stay  where  you  are.  I'm  going  to  climb  out 


440  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

on  these  bushes  and  see  if  I  can  get  a  view  of  the  mountain 
side." 

Advancing  a  few  yards,  Linda  braced  herself,  drew 
around  her  glasses,  and  began  searching  the  side  of  the 
mountain  opposite  her  and  below  as  far  as  she  could  range 
with  the  glasses.  At  last  she  gave  up. 

"Must  have  gone  the  other  way,"  she  said  to  Katy. 
"I'll  crawl  back  to  you.  We'll  go  after  help  and  get  Don 
ald  out.  There  will  be  time  enough  to  examine  the  cliff 
afterward;  but  I  am  just  as  sure  now  as  I  will  be  when  it  is 
examined  that  that  stone  was  purposely  loosened  to  a  de 
gree  where  a  slight  push  would  drop  it.  As  Donald  says, 
there's  no  reason  why  it  should  hang  there  for  centuries 
and  fall  on  him  to-day.  Shut  your  eyes,  old  dear,  and 
back  up.  We  must  go  to  Donald.  I  rather  think  it's  on 
one  of  his  feet  from  what  he  said.  Let  me  take  one  more 
good  look." 

At  that  minute  from  high  on  the  mountain  above  them 
a  shower  of  sand  and  pebbles  came  rattling  down.  Linda 
gave  Katy  one  terrified  look. 

"My  God!"  she  panted.  "He's  coming  down  right 
above  us!" 

Just  how  Linda  recrossed  the  bushes  and  reached  Katy 
she  did  not  know.  She  motioned  for  her  to  make  her  way 
back  as  they  had  come.  Katy  planted  her  feet  squarely 
upon  the  rock.  Her  lower  jaw  shot  out;  her  eyes  were 
aflame.  She  stood  perfectly  still  with  the  exception  of 
motioning  Linda  to  crowd  back  under  the  bushes,  and 
again  Linda  realized  that  she  had  no  authority;  as  she  had 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       441 

done  from  childhood  when  Katy  was  in  earnest,  Linda 
obeyed  her.  She  had  barely  reached  the  overhanging 
bushes,  crouched  under  them,  and  straightened  herself, 
when  a  small  avalanche  came  showering  down,  and  a  min 
ute  later  a  pair  of  feet  were  level  with  her  head.  Then 
screened  by  the  bushes,  she  could  have  reached  out  and 
touched  Oka  Sayye.  As  his  feet  found  a  solid  resting  place 
on  the  ledge  on  which  Linda  and  Katy  stood,  and  while  he 
was  still  clinging  to  the  bushes,  Katherine  O'Donovan  ad 
vanced  upon  him.  He  had  felt  that  his  feet  were  firm,  let 
go  his  hold,  and  turned,  when  he  faced  the  infuriated 
Irishwoman.  She  had  pulled  the  strap  from  around  her 
neck,  slipped  the  axe  from  it,  and  with  a  strong  thrust  she 
planted  the  head  of  it  against  Oka  Sayye's  chest  so  hard 
that  she  almost  fell  forward.  The  Jap  plunged  backward 
among  the  bushes,  the  roots  of  which  had  supported  Linda 
while  she  used  the  glasses.  Then  he  fell,  sliding  among 
them,  snatching  wildly.  Linda  gripped  the  overhanging 
growth  behind  which  she  had  been  screened,  and  leaned 
forward. 

"He  has  a  hold;  he  is  coming  back  up,  Katy!"  she 
cried. 

Katy  took  another  step  forward.  She  looked  over  the 
cliff  down  an  appalling  depth  of  hundreds  of  feet.  De 
liberately  she  raised  the  axe,  circled  it  round  her  head  and 
brought  it  down  upon  that  particular  branch  to  which  Oka 
Sayye  was  clinging.  She  cut  it  through,  and  the  axe  rang 
upon  the  stone  wall  behind  it.  As  she  swayed  forward 
Linda  reached  out,  gripped  Katy  and  pulled  her  back. 


442  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"Get  him?"  she  asked  tersely,  as  if  she  were  speaking  of 
a  rat  or  a  rattlesnake. 

Katy  sank  back  limply  against  the  wall.  Linda  slowly 
turned  her  around,  and  as  she  faced  the  rock,  "Squeeze 
tight  against  it,  shut  your  eyes,  and  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip/' 
she  cautioned.  "I'm  going  to  work  around  you;  I  want 
to  be  ahead  of  you." 

She  squeezed  past  Katy,  secured  the  axe  and  hung  it 
round  her  own  neck.  She  cautioned  Katy  to  keep  her  eyes 
shut  and  follow  where  she  led  her,  then  they  started  on 
their  way  back.  Linda  did  not  attempt  to  descend  the 
sheer  wall  by  which  they  had  climbed,  but  making  a  detour 
she  went  lower,  and  in  a  very  short  time  they  were  back 
in  the  kitchen.  Linda  rushed  to  the  boulder  and  knelt 
again,  but  she  could  get  no  response  to  her  questions. 
Evidently  Donald's  foot  was  caught  and  he  was  uncon 
scious  from  the  pain.  Squeezing  as  close  as  she  could,  she 
thrust  her  arm  under  the  ledge  until  she  could  feel  his 
head.  Then  she  went  to  the  other  side,  and  there  she 
could  see  that  his  right  foot  was  pinned  under  the  rock. 
She  looked  at  Katy  reassuringly,  then  she  took  off  the  axe 
and  handed  it  to  her. 

"He's  alive,"  she  said.  "Can't  kill  a  healthy  youngster 
to  have  a  crushed  foot.  You  stand  guard  until  I  take  the 
Bear-cat  and  bring  help.  It's  not  far  to  where  I  can  find 
people." 

At  full  speed  Linda  put  the  Cat  through  the  stream  and 
out  of  the  canyon  until  she  reached  cultivated  land,  where 
she  found  a  man  who  would  gather  other  men  and  start  to 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST      443 

the  rescue.  She  ran  on  until  she  found  a  house  with  a 
telephone.  There  she  called  Judge  Whiting,  telling  him  to 
bring  an  ambulance  and  a  surgeon,  giving  him  explicit 
directions  as  to  where  to  come,  and  assuring  him  that 
Donald  could  not  possibly  be  seriously  hurt.  She  found 
time  to  urge,  also,  that  before  starting  he  set  in  motion 
any  precautions  he  had  taken  for  Donald's  protection. 
She  told  him  where  she  thought  what  remained  of  Oka 
Sayye  could  be  found.  And  then,  as  naturally  and  as 
methodically  as  she  had  done  all  the  rest,  she  called  Peter 
Morrison  and  told  him  that  she  was  in  trouble  and  where 
he  could  find  her. 

And  because  Peter  had  many  miles  less  distance  to  travel 
than  the  others  she  had  summoned,  he  arrived  first.  He 
found  Linda  and  Katy  had  burrowed  under  the  stone  until 
they  had  made  an  opening  into  which  the  broken  foot 
might  sink  so  that  the  pain  of  the  pressure  would  be  re 
lieved.  Before  'the  rock,  with  picks  and  shovels,  half  a 
dozen  sympathetic  farmers  from  ranches  and  cultivated 
land  at  the  mouth  of  the  canyon  were  digging  furiously 
to  make  an  opening  undermining  the  boulder  so  that  it 
could  be  easily  tipped  forward.  Donald  was  conscious 
and  they  had  been  passing  water  to  him  and  encouraging 
him  with  the  report  that  his  father  and  a  good  surgeon 
would  be  there  very  soon.  Katherine  O'Donovan  had 
crouched  at  one  side  of  the  boulder,  supporting  the  hurt 
foot.  She  was  breathing  heavily  and  her  usually  red  face 
was  a  ghastly  green.  Linda  had  helped  her  to  resume  the 
skirt  of  her  dress.  At  the  other  side  of  the  rock  the  girl 


444  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

was  reaching  to  where  she  could  touch  Donald's  head  or 
reassuringly  grip  the  hand  that  he  could  extend  to  her. 
Peter  seized  Linda's  axe  and  began  hewing  at  the  earth 
and  rock  in  order  to  help  in  the  speedy  removal  of  the  huge 
boulder.  Soon  Judge  Whiting,  accompanied  by  Doctor 
Fleming,  the  city's  greatest  surgeon,  came  roaring  into  the 
canyon  and  stopped  on  the  roadway  when  he  saw  the  party. 
The  Judge  sprang  from  the  car,  leaped  the  stream,  and 
started  toward  them.  In  an  effort  to  free  his  son  before 
his  arrival,  all  the  men  braced  themselves  against  the  face 
of  the  cliff  and  pushed  with  their  combined  strength.  The 
boulder  dropped  forward  into  the  trench  they  had  dug  for 
it  enough  to  allow  Peter  to  crowd  his  body  between  it  and 
the  cliff  and  lift  Donald's  head  and  shoulders.  Linda  in 
stantly  ran  around  the  boulder,  pushed  her  way  in,  and 
carefully  lifting  Donald's  feet,  she  managed  to  work  the 
lithe  slenderness  of  her  body  through  the  opening,  so  that 
they  carried  Donald  out  and  laid  him  down  in  the  open. 
He  was  considerably  dazed  and  shaken,  cruelly  hurt,  but 
proved  himself  a  game  youngster  of  the  right  mettle.  He 
raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  managing  a  rather  stiff- 
lipped  smile  for  his  father  and  Linda.  The  surgeon  in 
stantly  began  cutting  to  reach  the  hurt  foot,  while  Peter 
Morrison  supported  the  boy's  head  and  shoulders  on  one 
side,  his  father  on  the  other. 

An  exclamation  of  dismay  broke  from  the  surgeon's  lips. 
He  looked  at  Judge  Whiting  and  nodded  slightly.  The 
men  immediately  picked  up  Donald  and  carried  him  to 
the  ambulance.  Katherine  O'Donovan  sat  down  sud- 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       445 

denly  and  buried  her  face  in  the  skirt  of  her  dress.  Linda 
laid  a  reassuring  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Don't,  Katy,"  she  said.  "  Keep  up  your  nerve;  you're 
all  right,  old  dear.  Donald's  fine.  That  doesn't  mean 
anything  except  that  his  foot  is  broken,  so  he  won't  be 
able,  and  it  won't  be  necessary  for  him,  to  endure  the  pain 
of  setting  it  in  a  cast  without  an  anaesthetic;  and  Doctor 
Fleming  can  work  much  better  where  he  has  every  con 
venience.  It's  all  right." 

The  surgeon  climbed  into  the  ambulance  and  they 
started  on  an  emergency  run  to  the  hospital.  As  the  car 
turned  and  swept  down  the  canyon,  for  no  reason  that  she 
could  have  explained,  Linda  began  to  shake  until  her  teeth 
clicked.  Peter  Morrison  sprang  back  across  the  brook,  and 
running  to  her  side,  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  with 
one  hand  he  pressed  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  covering 
her  face. 

"Steady,  Linda,"  he  said  quietly,  "steady.  You  know 
that  he  is  all  right.  It  will  only  be  a  question  of  a  short 
confinement." 

Linda  made  a  brave  effort  to  control  herself.  She 
leaned  against  Peter  and  held  out  both  her  hands. 

"I'm  all  right,"  she  chattered.     "Give  me  a  minute." 

Judge  Whiting  came  to  them. 

"I  am  getting  away  immediately,"  he  said.  "I  must 
reach  Louise  and  Mother  before  they  get  word  of  this. 
Doctor  Fleming  will  take  care  of  Donald  all  right.  What 
happened,  Linda?  Can  you  tell  me?" 

Linda  opened  her  lips  and  tried  to  speak,  but  she  was  too 


446  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

breathless,  too  full  of  excitement,  to  be  coherent.  To  her 
amazement  Katherine  O'Donovan  scrambled  to  her  feet, 
lifted  her  head  and  faced  the  Judge.  She  pointed  to  the 
fireplace. 

"  I  was  right  there,  busy  with  me  cookin'  utensils,"  she 
said.  "Miss  Linda  was  a-sittin'  on  that  exact  spot,  they 
jist  havin'  finished  atin'  some  of  her  haythen  messes;  and 
the  lad  was  lyin'  square  where  the  boulder  struck,  on  the 
Indian  blanket,  atin'  a  pace  of  cactus  candy.  And  jist  one 
pebble  came  rattlin'  down,  but  Miss  Linda  happened  to  be 
lookin',  and  she  scramedto  the  b'y  to  be  rollin'  under  where 
ye  found  him;  so  he  gave  a  flop  or  two,  and  it's  well  that 
he  took  his  orders  without  waitin'  to  ask  the  raison  for 
them,  for  if  he  had,  at  the  prisint  minute  he  would  be 
about  as  thick  as  a  shate  of  writing  paper.  The  thing 
dropped  clear  and  straight  and  drove  itself  into  the  earth 
and  stone  below  it,  as  ye  see." 

Katherine  O'Donovan  paused. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Judge.     "Anything  else?" 

"Miss  Linda  got  to  him  and  she  made  sure  he  had 
brathin'  space  and  he  wasn't  hurt  bad,  and  then  she  told 
him  he  had  got  to  stand  it,  because,  sittin'  where  she  did, 
she  faced  the  clifF  and  she  thought  she  had  seen  someone. 
She  took  the  talescope  and  started  climbin',  and  I  took  the 
axe  and  I  started  climbin'  after  her." 

Katy  broke  down  and  emitted  a  weird  Irish  howl.  Lin 
da  instantly  braced  herself,  threw  her  arms  around  Katy, 
and  drew  her  head  to  her  shoulder.  She  looked  at  Judge 
Whiting  and  began  to  talk. 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST      447 

"  I  can  show  you  where  she  followed  me,  straight  up  the 
face  of  the  canyon,  almost,"  she  said.  "And  she  never 
had  tried  to  climb  a  canyon  side  for  a  yard,  either,  but  she 
came  up  and  over  after  me,  like  a  cat.  And  up  there  on 
a  small  ledge  Oka  Sayye  came  down  directly  above  us.  I 
couldn't  be  mistaken.  I  saw  him  plainly.  I  know  him 
by  sight  as  well  as  I  do  any  of  you.  We  heard  the  stones 
coming  down  before  him,  and  we  knew  someone  was 
going  to  be  on  us  who  was  desperate  enough  to  kill.  When 
he  touched  our  level  and  turned  to  follow  the  ledge  we 
were  on,  I  pushed  him  over." 

Katy  shook  off  Linda's  protecting  arm  and  straightened 
suddenly. 

"Why,  ye  domned  little  fool,  ye!"  she  screamed.  "Ye 
never  told  a  lie  before  in  all  your  days!  Judge  Whiting, 
I  had  the  axe  round  me  neck  by  the  climbin'  strap,  and  I 
got  it  in  me  fingers  when  we  heard  the  crature  comin',  and 
against  his  chist  I  set  it,  and  I  gave  him  a  shove  that  sint 
him  over.  Like  a  cat  he  was  a-clingin'  and  climbin',  and 
when  I  saw  him  comin'  up  on  us  with  that  awful  face  of  his, 
I  jist  swung  the  axe  like  I  do  when  I'm  rejoocin'  a  pace  of 
eucalyptus  to  fireplace  size,  and  whack!  I  took  the  branch 
supportin'  him,  and  a  domn'  good  axe  I  spoiled  doin'  it." 

Katy  folded  her  arms,  lifted  her  chin  higher  than  it  ever 
had  been  before,  and  glared  defiance  at  the  Judge. 

"Now  go  on,"  she  said,  "and  decide  what  ye'll  do  to  me 
for  it." 

The  Judge  reached  over  and  took  both  Katherine 
O'Donovan's  hands  in  a  firm  grip. 


448  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"You  brave  woman!"  he  said.  "If  it  lay  in  my  power, 
I  would  give  you  the  Carnegie  Medal.  In  any  event  I 
will  see  that  you  have  a  good  bungalow  with  plenty  of 
shamrock  on  each  side  of  your  front  path,  and  a  fair  in 
come  to  keep  you  comfortable  when  the  rheumatic  days 
are  upon  you." 

"I  am  no  over-feeder,"  said  Katy  proudly.  "I'm  daily 
exercisin'  me  muscles  enough  to  kape  them  young.  The 
rheumatism  I'll  not  have.  And  nayther  will  I  have  the 
house  nor  the  income.  I've  saved  me  money;  I've  an  in 
come  of  me  own." 

"And  as  for  the  bungalow,"  interrupted  Linda,  "Kath- 
erine,  as  I  have  mentioned  frequently  before,  is  my  father, 
and  my  mother,  and  my  whole  family,  and  her  front  door 


is  mine." 


"Sure,"  said  Katy  proudly.  "When  these  two  fine 
people  before  you  set  set  up  their  hearthstone,  a-swapin' 
it  I'll  be,  and  carin'  for  their  youngsters;  but,  Judge,  I 
would  like  a  bit  of  the  shamrock.  Ye  might  be  sendin' 
me  a  start  of  that,  if  it  would  plase  Your  Honour." 

Judge  Whiting  looked  intently  at  Katherine  O'Donovan. 
And  then,  as  if  they  had  been  on  the  witness  stand,  he 
looked  searchingly  at  Linda.  But  Linda  was  too  per 
turbed,  too  accustomed  to  Katy's  extravagant  nonsense 
even  to  notice  the  purport  of  what  she  had  said.  Then 
the  Judge  turned  his  attention  to  Peter  Morrison  and 
realized  that  at  least  one  of  the  parties  to  Katherine's 
proposed  hearthstone  had  understood  and  heartily  en 
dorsed  her  proposal. 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       449 

"I  will  have  to  be  going.  The  boy  and  his  mother  will 
need  me,"  he  said.  "I  will  see  all  of  you  later." 

Then  he  sprang  across  the  brook  and  sent  his  car  roaring 
down  the  canyon  after  the  ambulance. 

Once  more  Katy  sank  to  the  ground.  Linda  looked  at 
her  as  she  buried  her  face  and  began  to  wail. 

"Peter,"  she  said  quietly,  "hunt  our  belongings  and 
pack  them  in  the  Bear-cat  the  best  you  can.  Excuse  us 
for  a  few  minutes.  We  must  get  this  out  of  our  sys 


tems." 


Gravely  she  sat  down  beside  Katy,  laid  her  head  on  her 
shoulder,  and  began  to  cry  very  nearly  as  energetically  as 
Katy  herself.  And  that  was  the  one  thing  which  was 
most  effective  in  restoring  Katy's  nerves.  Tears  were 
such  an  unaccustomed  thing  with  Linda  that  Katy  con 
trolled  herself  speedily  so  that  she  might  be  better  able  to 
serve  the  girl.  In  a  few  minutes  Katy  had  reduced  her 
emotions  to  a  dry  sniffle.  She  lifted  her  head,  groped  for 
her  pocket,  and  being  unable  to  find  it  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  she  was  sitting  upon  it,  she  used  her  gingham 
hem  as  a  handkerchief.  Once  she  had  risen  to  the  physical 
effort  of  wiping  her  eyes,  she  regained  calmness  rapidly. 
The  last  time  she  applied  the  hem  she  looked  at  Peter,  but 
addressed  the  Almighty  in  resigned  tones:  "There,  Lord, 
I  guess  that  will  do." 

In  a  few  minutes  she  was  searching  the  kitchen,  making 
sure  that  no  knives,  spoons,  or  cooking  utensils  were 
lost.  Missing  her  support,  Linda  sat  erect  and  endeav 
oured  to  follow  Katy's  example.  Her  eyes  met  Peter's 


450  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

and  when  she  saw  that  his  shoulders  were  shaking,  a  dry, 
hysterical  laugh  possessed  her. 

"Yes,  Katy,"  she  panted,  "that  will  do,  and  remember 
the  tears  we  are  shedding  are  over  Donald's  broken  foot, 
and  because  this  may  interfere  with  his  work,  though  I 
don't  think  it  will  for  long." 

"When  I  cry,"  said  Katy  tersely,  "I  cry  because  I  feel 
like  it.  I  wasn't  wapin'  over  the 'snake  that'd  plan  a 
death  like  that  for  any  one" — Katy  waved  toward  the 
boulder — "and  nayther  was  I  wastin'  me  tears  over  the 
fut  of  a  kid  bein'  jommed  up  a  trifle." 

"Well,  then,  Katy,"  asked  Linda  tremulously,  "why 
were  you  crying?" 

"Well,  there's  times,"  said  Katy  judicially,  "when  me 
spirits  tell  me  I  would  be  the  better  for  lettin'  off  a  wee 
bit  of  stame,  and  one  of  them  times  havin'  arrived,  I  jist 
bowed  me  head  to  it,  as  is  in  accordance  with  the  makings 
of  me.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  be  flyin'  in  the  face  of  Provi 
dence  and  sayin'  I  won't,  when  all  me  interior  disposition 
says  to  me:  ' Ye  will!'" 

"And  now,  Linda,"  said  Peter,  "can  you  tell  us  why 
you  were  crying?" 

"Why,  I  think,"  said  Linda,  "that  Katy  has  explained 
sufficiently  for  both  of  us.  It  was  merely  time  for  us  to 
howl  after  such  fearful  nerve  strain,  so  we  howled." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  Peter.  "Now  I'll  tell  you 
something.  If  you  had  gone  away  in  that  ambulance  to 
an  anaesthetic  and  an  operation,  no  wild  cat  that  ever 
indulged  in  a  hunger  hunt  through  this  canyon  could  have 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       451 

put  up  a  howl  equal  to  the  one  that  I  would  have  sent  up/' 

"Peter,"  said  Linda,  "there  is  nothing  funny  about  this; 
it's  no  time  for  jest.  But  do  men  have  nerves?  Would 
you  really?" 

"Of  course  I  would,"  said  Peter. 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  contradicted  Linda.  "You  just 
say  that  because  you  want  to  comfort  us  for  having  broken 
down,  instead  of  trying  to  tease  us  as  most  men  would." 

"He  would,  too!  "said  Katy,  starting  to  the  Bear-cat  with 
a  load  of  utensils.  "Now  come  on;  let's  go  home  and 
be  gettin'  claned  up  and  ready  for  what's  goin'  to  happen 
to  us.  Will  they  be  jailin'  us,  belike,  Miss  Linda?" 

Linda  looked  at  Peter  quest ioningly. 

"No,"  he  said  quietly.  "It  is  very  probable  that  the 
matter  never  will  be  mentioned  to  you  again,  unless  Judge 
Whiting  gets  hold  of  some  clue  that  he  wishes  to  use 
as  an  argument  against  matured  Japs  being  admitted  in 
the  same  high-school  classes  with  our  clean,  decent,  young 
Americans.  They  stopped  that  in  the  grades  several 
years  ago,  I  am  told." 

Before  they  could  start  back  to  Lilac  Valley  a  car  stopped 
in  the  canyon  and  a  couple  of  men  introducing  themselves 
as  having  come  from  Judge  Whiting  interviewed  Katy  and 
Linda  exhaustively.  Then  Linda  pointed  out  to  them  an 
easier  but  much  longer  route  by  which  they  might  reach  the 
top  of  the  canyon  to  examine  the  spot  from  which  the 
boulder  had  fallen.  She  showed  them  where  she  and 
Katy  had  ascended,  and  told  them  where  they  would  be 
likely  to  find  Oka  Sayye. 


452  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

When  it  came  to  a  question  of  really  starting,  Linda 
looked  with  appealing  eyes  at  Peter. 

"  Peter,"  she  said,  "could  we  fix  it  any  way  so  you  could 
drive  Katy  and  me  home?  For  the  first  time  since  I  have 
begun  driving  this  spring  I  don't  feel  equal  to  keeping  the 
road." 

"Of  course,"  said  Peter.  "I'll  take  your  car  to  the 
nearest  farmhouse  and  leave  it,  then  I'll  take  you  and  Katy 
in  my  car." 

Late  that  evening  Judge  Whiting  came  to  Lilac  Valley 
with  his  wife  and  daughter  to  tell  Linda  that  the  top  of  the 
cliff  gave  every  evidence  of  the  stone  having  been  loosened 
previously,  so  that  a  slight  impetus  would  send  it  crashing 
down  at  the  time  when  Donald  lay  in  his  accustomed  place 
directly  in  the  line  of  its  fall.  His  detectives  had  found  the 
location  of  the  encounter  and  they  had  gone  to  the  bottom 
of  the  cliff,  a  thousand  feet  below,  but  they  had  not  been 
able  to  find  any  trace  of  Oka  Sayye.  Somewhere  in  wait 
ing  there  had  been  confederates  who  had  removed  what 
remained  of  him.  On  the  way  home  Mrs.  Whiting  said 
to  her  husband:  "Judge,  are  you  very  sure  that  what  the 
cook  said  to  you  this  afternoon  about  Miss  Strong  and 
Mr.  Morrison  is  true?" 

"I  am  only  sure  of  its  truth  so  far  as  he  is  concerned," 
replied  the  Judge.  "What  he  thought  about  Linda  was 
evident.  I  am  very  sorry.  She  is  a  mighty  fine  girl  and 
I  think  Donald  is  very  much  interested  in  her." 

"Yes,  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Donald's  mother.  "Inter 
ested;  but  he  has  not  even  a  case  of  first  love.  He  is  in- 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       453 

terested  for  the  same  reason  you  would  be  or  I  would  be, 
because  she  is  intellectually  so  stimulating.  And  you 
have  to  take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  in  two  or 
three  years  more  she  will  be  ready  for  marriage  and  a  home 
of  her  own,  and  Donald  will  still  be  in  school  with  his 
worldly  experience  and  his  business  education  not  yet  be 
gun.  The  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  Donald  is  just 
to  let  his  infatuation  for  her  die  a  natural  death,  with  the 
quiet  assistance  of  his  family." 

The  Judge's  face  reddened  slightly. 

"Well,  I  would  like  mighty  well  to  have  her  in  the 
family,"  he  said.  "She's  a  corking  fine  girl.  She  would 
make  a  fine  mother  of  fine  men.  I  haven't  a  doubt  but  that 
with  the  power  of  his  personality  and  the  power  of  his  pen 
and  the  lure  of  propinquity,  Peter  Morrison  will  win  her, 
but  I  hate  it.  It's  the  best  chance  the  boy  ever  will  have." 

And  then  Louise  spoke  up  softly. 

"Donald  hasn't  any  chance,  Dad,"  she  said  quietly, 
"and  he  never  did  have.  I  have  met  Peter  Morrison 
myself  and  I  would  be  only  too  glad  if  I  thought  he 
was  devoted  to  me.  I'll  grant  that  Linda  Strong  is  a  fine 
girl,  but  when  she  wakes  up  to  the  worth  of  Peter  Morrison 
and  to  a  realization  of  what  other  women  would  be  glad 
to  be  to  him,  she  will  merely  reach  out  and  lay  possessive 
hands  upon  what  already  belongs  to  her." 

It  was  a  curious  thing  that  such  occurrences  as  the 
death  of  Oka  Sayye  and  the  injury  to  Donald  could  take 
place  and  no  one  know  about  them.  Yet  the  papers  were 
silent  on  the  subject  and  so  were  the  courts.  Linda 


454  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

and  Katy  were  fully  protected.  The  confederates  of  Oka 
Sayye  for  reasons  of  their  own  preferred  to  keep  very  quiet. 

By  Monday  Donald,  with  his  foot  in  a  plaster  cast,  was 
on  a  side  verandah  of  his  home  with  a  table  beside  him 
strewn  with  books  and  papers.  An  agreement  had  been 
made  that  his  professors  should  call  and  hear  his  recita 
tions  for  a  few  days  until  by  the  aid  of  a  crutch  and  a  cane 
he  could  resume  his  place  in  school.  Linda  went  to  visit 
him  exactly  as  she  would  have  gone  to  see  Marian  in  like 
circumstances.  She  succeeded  in  making  all  of  the  Whit 
ing  family  her  very  devoted  friends. 

One  evening,  after  he  had  been  hobbling  about  for  over 
a  week,  Linda  and  Peter  called  to  spend  the  evening, 
and  a  very  gay  and  enjoyable  evening  it  was.  And  yet 
when  it  was  over  and  they  had  gone  away  together  Don 
ald  appeared  worried  and  deeply  thoughtful.  When  his 
mother  came  to  his  room  to  see  if  the  foot  was  unduly 
painful  or  there  was  anything  she  could  do  to  make  him 
more  comfortable,  he  looked  at  her  belligerently. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "I  don't  like  Peter  Morrison  being 
so  much  with  my  girl." 

Mrs.  Whiting  stood  very  still.  She  thought  very  fast. 
Should  she  postpone  it  or  should  she  let  the  boy  take  all 
of  his  hurts  together?  Her  heart  ached  for  him  and  yet 
she  felt  that  she  knew  what  life  had  in  store  for  him  con 
cerning  Linda.  So  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and 
began  to  talk  quietly,  plainly,  reasonably.  She  tried  to 
explain  nature  and  human  nature  and  what  she  thought 
the  laws  of  probability  were  in  the  case.  Donald  lay  si- 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       455 

lent.  He  said  nothing  until  she  had  finished  all  she  had 
to  say,  and  then  he  announced  triumphantly:  "You're  all 
wrong.  That  is  what  would  happen  if  Linda  were  a  girl 
like  any  of  the  other  girls  in  her  class,  or  like  Louise.  But 
she  has  promised  that  she  would  write  to  me  every  Satur 
day  night  and  she  has  said  that  she  thinks  more  of  me 
than  of  any  of  the  other  boys." 

"Donald  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Whiting,  "you're  not  'in 
love'  with  Linda  yourself,  and  neither  is  she  with  you. 
By  the  time  you  are  ready  to  marry  and  settle  down  in 
life,  Linda  in  all  probability  will  be  married  and  be  the 
mother  of  two  or  three  babies." 

"Yes,  like  fun  she  will,"  said  Donald  roughly. 

"Have  you  asked  her  whether  she  loves  you?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Whiting. 

"Oh,  that  'love'  business,"  said  Donald,  "it  makes  me 
tired !  Linda  and  I  never  did  any  mushing  around.  We 
had  things  of  some  importance  to  talk  about  and  to  do." 

A  bit  of  pain  in  Mrs.  Whiting's  heart  eased.  It  was 
difficult  to  keep  her  lips  quiet  and  even. 

"You  haven't  asked  her  to  marry  you,  then?"  she  said 
soberly. 

"Oh  good  Lord,"  cried  Donald,  "'marry!'  How  could 
I  marry  any  one  when  I  haven't  even  graduated  from 
High  School  and  with  college  and  all  that  to  come?" 

"That  is  what  I  have  been  trying  to  tell  you,"  said  his 
mother  evenly.  "I  don't  believe  you  have  been  thinking 
about  marriage  and  I  am  absolutely  certain  that  Linda 
has  not,  but  she  is  going  to  be  made  to  think  about  it 


456  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

long  before  you  will  be  in  such  financial  position  that  you 
dare.  That  is  the  reason  I  am  suggesting  that  you  think 
about  these  things  seriously  and  question  yourself  as  to 
whether  you  would  be  doing  the  fair  thing  by  Linda  if  you 
tried  to  tie  her  up  in  an  arrangement  that  would  ask  her  to 
wait  six  or  eight  years  yet  before  you* would  be  ready." 

"Well,  I  can  get  around  faster  than  that,"  said  Donald 
belligerently. 

"Of  course  you  can,"  agreed  his  mother.  "I  made  that 
estimate  fully  a  year  too  long.  But  even  in  seven  years 
Linda  could  do  an  awful  lot  of  waiting;  and  there  are  some 
very  wonderful  girls  that  will  be  coming  up  six  or  seven 
years  from  now  here  at  home.  You  know  that  hereafter 
all  the  girls  in  the  world  are  going  to  be  very  much  more 
Linda's  kind  of  girls  than  they  have  been  heretofore. 
The  girls  who  have  lived  through  the  war  and  who  have 
been  intimate  with  its  sorrow  and  its  suffering  and  its 
terrible  results  to  humanity,  are  not  going  to  be  such 
heedless,  thoughtless,  not  nearly  such  selfish,  girls  as  the 
world  has  known  in  the  decade  just  past.  And  there 
is  going  to  be  more  outdoor  life,  more  nature  study. 
There  are  going  to  be  stronger  bodies,  better  food,  better- 
cared-for  young  people;  and  every  year  educational  ad 
vantages  are  going  to  be  greater.  If  you  can  bring  your 
self  to  think  about  giving  up  the  idea  of  there  ever  existing 
any  extremely  personal  thing  between  you  and  Linda,  I 
am  very  sure  I  could  guarantee  to  introduce  you  to  a  girl 
who  would  be  quite  her  counterpart,  and  undoubtedly  we 
could  meet  one  who  would  be  handsomer." 


THE  END  OF  DONALD'S  CONTEST       457 

Donald  punched  his  pillow  viciously. 

"That's  nice  talk,"  he  said,  "and  it  may  be  true  talk. 
But  in  the  first  place  I  wish  that  Peter  Morrison  would 
let  my  girl  alone,  and  in  the  second  place  I  don't  care  if 
there  are  a  thousand  just  as  nice  girls  or  even  better  look 
ing  girls  than  Linda,  though  any  girl  would  be  going  some 
if  she  were  nicer  and  better  looking  than  Linda.  But  I 
am  telling  you  that  when  my  foot  gets  better  I  am  going 
to  Lilac  Valley  and  tell  him  where  to  head  in,  and  I'll 
punch  his  head  if  he  doesn  't  do  it  promptly." 

"Of  course  you  will,"  said  his  mother  reassuringly; 
"and  I'll  go  with  you  and  we'll  see  to  it  that  he  attends 
strictly  to  his  own  affairs." 

Donald  burst  out  laughing,  exactly  as  his  mother  in  her 
heart  had  hoped  that  he  would. 

"Yes,  I've  got  a  hand-painted  picture  of  myself  starting 
to  Lilac  Valley  to  fight  a  man  who  is  butting  in  with  my 
girl,  and  taking  my  mother  along  to  help  me  beat  him  up," 
he  said. 

Mrs.  Whiting  put  her  arms  around  her  boy,  kissed  him 
tenderly,  and  smoothed  his  hair,  and  then  turned  out  the 
lights  and  slipped  from  the  room.  But  in  the  clear  moon 
light  as  she  closed  the  door  she  could  see  that  a  boyish 
grin  was  twisting  his  lips,  and  she  went  down  to  tell  the 
Judge  that  he  need  not  worry.  If  his  boy  were  irrepar 
ably  hurt  anywhere,  it  was  in  his  foot. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
How  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST 

THE  following  weeks  were  very  happy  for  Linda. 
When  the  cast  was  removed  from  Donald's  foot 
and  it  was  found  that  a  year  or  two  of  care  would 
put  him  even  on  the  athletic  fields  and  the  dancing  floor 
again,  she  was  greatly  relieved. 

She  lacked  words  in  which  to  express  her  joy  that 
Marian  was  rapidly  coming  into  happiness.  She  was  so 
very  busy  with  her  school  work,  with  doing  all  she  could 
to  help  Donald  with  his,  with  her  "Jane  Meredith" 
articles,  with  hunting  and  working  out  material  for  her 
book,  that  she  never  had  many  minutes  at  a  time  for  in 
trospection.  When  she  did  have  a  few  she  sometimes 
pondered  deeply  as  to  whether  Marian  had  been  alto 
gether  sincere  in  the  last  letter  she  had  written  her  in 
their  correspondence,  but  she  was  so  delighted  in  the  out 
come  that  if  she  did  at  times  have  the  same  doubt  in  a 
fleeting  form  that  had  not  been  in  the  least  fleeting  with 
Peter  Morrison,  she  dismissed  it  as  rapidly  as  possible. 
When  things  were  so  very  good  as  they  were  at  that  time, 
why  try  to  improve  them? 

One  evening  as  she  came  from  school,  thinking  that 
she  would  take  Katy  for  a  short  run  in  the  Bear-cat  before 

4S8 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST      459 

dinner,  she  noticed  a  red  head  prominent  in  the  front  yard 
as  she  neared  home.  When  she  turned  in  at  the  front  walk 
and  crossed  the  lawn  she  would  have  been  willing  to 
wager  quite  a  sum  that  Katy  had  been  crying. 

"Why,  old  dear,"  said  Linda,  putting  her  arms  around 
her,  "if  anything  has  gone  wrong  with  you  I  will  cer 
tainly  take  to  the  war-path,  instanter.  I  can't  even 
imagine  what  could  be  troubling  you."  Linda  lowered 
her  voice.  "Nothing  has  come  up  about  Oka  Sayye?" 

Katy  shook  her  head. 

"I  thought  not,"  said  Linda.  "Judge  Whiting  prom 
ised  me  that  what  use  he  made  of  that  should  be  man's 
business  and  exploited  wholly  for  the  sake  of  California 
and  her  people.  He  said  we  shouldn't  be  involved.  I 
haven't  been  worried  about  it  even,  although  I  am  willing 
to  go  upon  the  stand  and  tell  the  whole  story  if  it  will  be 
any  help  toward  putting  right  what  is  at  present  a  great 
wrong  to  California." 

"Yes,  so  would  I,"  said  Katy.  "I'm  not  worryin' 
meself  about  the  little  baste  any  more  than  I  would  if 
it  had  been  a  mad  dog  foaming  up  that  cliff  at  ye." 

"Then  what  is  it?"  asked  Linda.  "Tell  me  this 
minute." 

"I  dunno  what  in  the  world  you're  going  to  think," 
said  Katy.  "I  dunno  what  in  the  world  you're  going 
to  do." 

Her  face  was  so  distressed  that  Linda's  nimble  brain 
flew  to  a  conclusion.  She  tightened  her  arm  across  Katy's 
shoulder. 


460  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"By  Jove,  Katy!"  she  said  breathlessly.  "Is  Eileen 
in  the  house?" 

Katy  nodded. 

"Has  she  been  to  see  John  and  made  things  right  with 
him?" 

Katy  nodded  again. 

"He's  in  there  with  her  waitin'  for  ye,"  she  said. 

It  was  a  stunned  Linda  who  slowly  dropped  her  arm, 
stood  erect,  and  lifted  her  head  very  high.  She  thought 
intently. 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  said,  "that  you  have 
been  crying  over  her?" 

Katy  held  out  both  hands. 

"Linda,"  she  said,  "she  always  was  such  a  pretty  thing, 
and  her  ma  didn't  raise  her  to  have  the  sense  of  a  peewee. 
If  your  pa  had  been  let  take  her  outdoors  and  grow  her 
in  the  sun  and  the  air,  she  would  have  been  bigger  and 
broader,  an'  there  would  have  been  the  truth  of  God's 
sunshine  an'  the  glory  of  His  rain  about  her.  Ye  know, 
Linda,  that  she  didn't  ever  have  a  common  dacent 
chance.  It  was  curls  that  couldn't  be  shook  out  and  a 
nose  that  dassen't  be  sunburned  and  shoes  that  mustn't 
be  scuffed  and  a  dress  that  shouldn't  be  mussed,  from  the 
day  she  was  born.  Ye  couldn't  jist  honest  say  she  had 
ever  had  a.  fair  chance,  now  could  ye?" 

"No,"  said  Linda  conclusively,  "no,  Katherine  O'Don- 
ovan,  you  could  not.  But  what  are  we  up  against? 
Does  she  want  to  come  back?  Does  she  want  to  stay 
here  again?" 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST      461 

"I  think  she  would  like  to,"  said  Katy.  "You  go  in 
and  see  her  for  yourself,  lambie,  before  ye  come  to  any 
decision." 

"You  don't  mean,"  said  Linda  in  a  marvelling  tone, 
"that  she  has  been  homesick,  that  she  has  come  back  to 
us  because  she  would  like  to  be  with  us  again?" 

"You  go  and  see  her  for  yourself;  and  if  you  don't  say 
she  is  the  worst  beat  out  and  the  tiredest  mortal  that  ye 
have  ever  seen,  you'll  be  surprisin'  me.  My  God,  Linda, 
they  ain't  nothin'  in  bein'  rich  if  it  can  do  to  a  girl  what 
has  been  done  to  Eileen!" 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Linda  impatiently,  "don't  condemn 
all  money  because  Eileen  has  not  found  happiness  with  it. 
The  trouble  has  been  that  Eileen's  only  chance  to  be  rich 
came  to  her  through  the  wrong  kind  of  people." 

"Well,  will  ye  jist  tell  me,  then,"  said  Katy,  "how  it 
happened  that  Eileen's  ma  was  a  sister  to  that  great 
beef  of  a  man,  which  same  is  hard  on  self-rayspectin' 
beef;  pork  would  come  nearer." 

"Yes,"  said  Linda,  "I'll  tell  you.  Eileen's  mother  had 
a  big  streak  of  the  same  coarseness  and  the  same  vulgarity 
in  her  nature,  or  she  could  not  have  reared  Eileen  as  she 
did.  She  probably  had  been  sent  to  school  and  had 
better  advantages  than  the  boy  through  a  designing 
mother  of  her  own.  Her  first  husband  must  have  been  a 
man  who  greatly  refined  and  educated  her.  We  can't 
ever  get  away  from  the  fact  that  Daddy  believed  in  her 
and  loved  her." 

"Yes,"  said  Katy,  "but  he  was  a  fooled  man.     She 


462  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

wasn't  what  he  thought  she  was.  Many's  the  time  I've 
stood  injustice  about  the  accounts  and  household  man 
agement  because  I  wouldn't  be  wakin'  him  up  to  what  he 
was  bound  to  for  life." 

"That  doesn't  help  us,"  said  Linda.  "I  must  go  in  and 
face  them." 

She  handed  her  books  to  Katy,  and  went  into  the  living 
room.  She  concentrated  on  John  Gilrnan  first,  and  a  wee 
qualm  of  disgust  crept  through  her  soul  when  she  saw 
that  after  weeks  of  suffering  he  was  once  more  ready  to 
devote  himself  to  Eileen.  Linda  marvelled  at  the  power 
a  woman  could  hold  over  a  man  that  would  force  him  to 
compromise  with  his  intellect,  his  education  and  environ 
ment.  Then  she  turned  her  attention  to  Eileen,  and  the 
shock  she  received  was  informing.  She  studied  her  an 
instant  incredulously,  then  she  went  to  her  and  held  out 
her  hand. 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  said  as  cordially  as  was  possible 
to  her.  "This  is  unexpected." 

Her  mind  was  working  rapidly,  yet  she  could  not  recall 
ever  having  seen  a  woman  quite  so  beautiful  as  Eileen. 
She  was  very  certain  that  the  colour  on  her  cheeks  was 
ebbing  and  rising  with  excitement;  it  was  no  longer  so  deep 
as  to  be  stationary.  She  was  very  certain  that  her  eyes 
had  not  been  darkened  as  to  lids  or  waxed  as  to  lashes. 
Her  hair  was  beautifully  dressed  in  sweeping  waves  with 
scarcely  any  artificial  work  upon  it.  Her  dress  was  ex 
tremely  tasteful  and  very  expensive.  There  was  no  simper 
on  her  lips,  nothing  superficial.  She  was  only  a  tired, 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST      463 

homesick  girl.  As  Linda  looked  at  her  she  understood 
why  Katy  had  cried  over  her.  She  felt  tears  beginning 
to  rise  in  her  own  heart.  She  put  both  arms  protectingly 
around  Eileen. 

"Why,  you  poor  little  thing/'  she  said  wonderingly, 
"was  it  so  damn'  bad  as  all  that?" 

Eileen  stood  straight.  She  held  herself  rigidly.  She 
merely  nodded.  Then  after  a*  second  she  said:  "Worse 
than  anything  you  could  imagine,  Linda.  Being  rich 
with  people  who  have  grown  rich  by  accident  is  a  dread 
ful  experience." 

"So  I  have  always  imagined,"  said  Linda.  And  then 
in  her  usual  downright  way  she  asked:  "Why  did  you 
come,  Eileen  ?  Is  there  anything  you  wanted  of  me  ? " 

Eileen  hesitated.  It  was  not  in  Linda's  heart  to  be 
mean. 

"Homesick,  little  sister?"  she  asked  lightly.  "Do  you 
want  to  come  here  while  you're  getting  ready  to  make  a 
home  for  John  ?  Is  that  it  ? " 

Then  Eileen  swayed  forward  suddenly,  buried  her  face 
in  Linda's  breast,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  Linda 
saw  and  heard  her  cry,  not  from  selfishness,  not  from 
anger,  not  from  greed,  but  as  an  ordinary  human  being 
cries  when  the  heart  is  so  full  that  nature  relieves  itself 
with  tears.  Linda  closed  her  arms  around  her  and  smiled 
over  her  head  at  John  Gilman. 

"Finish  all  of  it  before  you  stop,"  she  advised.  "It's 
all  right.  You  come  straight  home.  You  didn't  leave  me 
any  word,  and  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  your  things, 


464  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

but  I  couldn't  feel  that  you  would  want  to  give  up  such 
beautiful  things  that  you  had  so  enjoyed.  We  had 
planned  for  Marian  to  spend  her  surnmer  vacation  here 
so  I  put  her  things  in  your  suite  and  I  had  moved  mine 
into  the  guest  room,  but  I  have  had  my  room  done  over 
and  the  guest  room  things  are  in  there,  and  every  scrap 
of  yours  is  carefully  put  away.  If  that  will  do,  you 
are  perfectly  welcome  to  it." 

Eileen  wiped  her  eyes. 

"Anything,"  she  sobbed.  "I'd  rather  have  Katy's 
room  than  be  shamed  and  humiliated  and  hurt  any  further. 
Linda,  I  would  almost  like  you  to  know  my  Aunt  Gallic, 
because  you  will  never  understand  about  her  if  you  don't. 
Her  favourite  pastime  was  to  tell  everyone  we  met  how 
much  the  things  I  wore  cost  her." 

Linda  released  Eileen  with  a  slight  shake. 

"Cheer  up!"  she  said.  "We'll  all  have  a  gorgeous 
time  together.  I  haven't  the  slightest  ambition  to  know 
more  than  that  about  your  Aunt  Callie.  If  my  brain 
really  had  been  acting  properly  I  would  never  have  dis 
mantled  your  room.  I  would  have  known  that  you  could 
not  endure  her,  and  that  you  would  come  home  just  as 
you  should.  It's  all  right,  John,  make  yourself  com 
fortable.  I  don't  know  what  Katy  has  for  dinner  but 
she  can  always  find  enough  for  an  extra  couple.  Come 
Eileen,  I'll  help  you  to  settle.  Where  is  your  luggage?" 

"I  brought  back,  Linda,  just  what  I  have  on,"  said 
Eileen.  "I  will  begin  again  where  I  left  off.  I  realize  that 
I  am  not  entitled  to  anything  further  from  the  Strong  es- 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST      465 

tate,  but  Uncle  was  so  unhappy  and  John  says  it's  all 
right — really  I  am  the  only  blood  heir  to  all  they  have; 
I  might  as  well  take  a  comfortable  allowance  from  it.  I 
am  to  go  to  see  them  a  few  days  of  every  month.  I  can 
endure  that  when  I  know  I  have  John  and  you  to  come 
back  to." 

When  Eileen  had  been  installed  in  Linda's  old  room 
Linda  went  down  to  the  kitchen,  shut  the  door  behind 
her,  and  leaning  against  it,  laid  her  hand  over  her  mouth 
to  suppress  a  low  laugh. 

"Katy,"  she  said,  "I've  been  and  gone  and  done  it; 
I  have  put  the  perfect  lady  in  my  old  room.  That  will 
be  a  test  of  her  sincerity — even  dainty  and  pretty  as  it  is 
since  it's  been  done  over.  If  she  is  sincere  enough  to 
spend  the  summer  getting  ready  to  marry  John  Oilman 
— why  that  is  all  right,  old  girl.  We  can  stand  it,  can't 
we?" 

"Yes,"  said  Katy,  "it's  one  of  them  infernal  nuisances 
but  we  can  stand  it.  I'm  thinkin',  from  the  looks  of  John 
Gilman  and  his  manner  of  spakin',  that  it  ain't  goin'  to  be 
but  a  very  short  time  that  he'll  be  waitin'." 

"Katy,"  said  Linda,  "isn't  this  the  most  entertain 
ing  world?  Doesn't  it  produce  the  most  lightning-like 
changes,  and  don't  the  most  unexpected  things  happen? 
Sort  of  dazes  me.  I  had  planned  to  take  a  little  run  with 
you  and  the  Cat.  Since  we  are  having — no,  I  mustn't 
say  guests — since  John  and  Eileen  have  come  home,  I'll 
have  to  give  up  that  plan  until  after  dinner,  and  then 
we'll  go  and  take  counsel  with  our  souls  and  see  if  we  can 


466  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

figure  out  how  we  are  going  to  solve  this  equation;  and  if 
you  don't  know  what  an  equation  is,  old  dear  heart;  it's 
me  with  a  war-club  and  you  with  a  shillalah  and  Eileen 
between  us,  and  be  'domned'  to  us  if  we  can't  make  an 
average,  ordinary,  decent  human  being  out  of  her.  Pin 
an  apron  on  her  in  the  morning,  Katy,  and  hand  her  a 
dust  cloth  and  tell  her  to  industrialize.  We  will  help 
her  with  her  trousseau,  but  she  shall  help  us  with  the 
work." 

"Ye  know,  lambie,"  whispered  Katy  suddenly,  "this 
is  a  burnin'  shame.  The  one  thing  I  didn't  think  about  is 
that  book  of  yours.  What  about  it  ? " 

"I  scarcely  know,"  said  Linda;  "it's  difficult  to  say.  Of 
course  we  can't  carry  out  the  plans  we  had  made  to  work 
here,  exactly  as  we  had  intended,  with  Eileen  in  the  house 
preparing  to  be  married.  But  she  tells  me  that  her  uncle 
has  made  her  a  generous  allowance,  so  probably  it's  en 
vironment  and  love  she  is  needing  much  more  than  help. 
It  is  barely  possible,  Katy,  that  after  I  have  watched  her 
a  few  days,  if  I  decide  she  is  in  genuine,  sincere,  heart- 
whole  earnest,  I  might  introduce  her  and  John  to  my 
friend,  l  Jane.'  It  is  probable  that  if  I  did,  Eileen  would 
not  expect  me  to  help  her,  and  at  the  same  time  she 
wouldn't  feel  that  I  was  acting  indifferently  because  I  did 
not.  We'll  wait  awhile,  Katy,  and  see  whether  we  skid 
before  we  put  on  the  chains." 

"What  about  Marian?"  inquired  Katy. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Linda  thoughtfully.  "If  Marian 
is  big  enough  to  come  here  and  spend  the  summer  under 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST      467 

the  same  roof  with  Eileen  and  John  Oilman,  and  have  a 
really  restful,  enjoyable  time  out  of  it,  she  is  bigger  than 
I  am.  Come  up  to  the  garret;  I  think  Eileen  has  brought 
no  more  with  her  than  she  took  away.  We'll  bring  her 
trunk  down,  put  it  in  her  room  and  lay  the  keys  on  top. 
Don't  begin  by  treating  her  as  a  visitor;  treat  her  as  if  she 
were  truly  my  sister.  Tell  her  what  you  want  and  how 
you  want  it,  exactly  as  you  tell  me  and  as  I  tell  you.  If 
you  see  even  a  suspicion  of  any  of  the  former  objection 
able  tendencies  popping  up,  let's  check  them  quick  and 
hard,  Katy." 

For  a  week  Linda  watched  Eileen  closely.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  she  was  sincere  in  her  conviction  that  Eileen 
had  been  severely  chastened.  When  she  came  in  contact 
with  Peter  Morrison  or  any  other  man  they  met  she  was 
not  immediately  artificial.  She  had  learned  to  be  as 
natural  with  men  as  with  other  women.  There  were  no 
pretty  postures,  no  softened  vocal  modulations,  no  child 
ish  nonsense  on  subjects  upon  which  the  average  child  of 
these  days  displays  the  knowledge  of  the  past-generation 
grandmother.  When  they  visited  Peter  Morrison's  house 
it  was  easy  to  see  that  Eileen  was  interested,  more  inter 
ested  than  any  of  them  ever  before  had  seen  her  in  any 
subject  outside  of  clothing  and  jewels.  Her  conduct  in  the 
Strong  home  had  been  irreproachable.  She  had  cared  for 
her  own  room,  quietly  undertaken  the  duties  of  dusting  and 
arranging  the  rooms  and  cutting  and  bringing  in  flowers. 
She  had  gone  to  the  kitchen  and  wiped  dishes  and  asked 
to  be  taught  how  to  cook  things  of  which  John  was  par- 


468  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

ticularly  fond.  She  had  been  reasonable  in  the  amount  of 
time  she  had  spent  on  her  shopping,  and  had  repeatedly 
gone  to  Linda  and  shown  interest  in  her  concerns.  The 
result  was  that  Linda  at  once  displayed  the  same  interest 
in  anything  pertaining  to  Eileen. 

One  afternoon  Linda  came  home  unusually  early.  She 
called  for  Eileen,  told  her  to  tie  on  her  sunshade  and  be 
ready  for  a  short  ride.  Almost  immediately  she  brought 
around  the  Bear-cat  and  when  they  were  seated  side  by  side 
headed  it  toward  the  canyon.  She  stopped  at  the  usual 
resting  place,  and  together  she  and  Eileen  walked  down 
the  light-dappled  road  bed.  She  pointed  out  things  to 
Eileen,  telling  her  what  they  were,  to  what  uses  they 
could  be  put,  while  at  the  same  time  narrowly  watch 
ing  her.  To  her  amazement  she  found  that  Eileen  was 
interested,  that  she  was  noticing  things  for  herself,  ask 
ing  what  they  were.  She  wanted  to  know  the  names  of  the 
singing  birds.  When  a  big  bird  trailed  a  waving  shadow 
in  front  of  her  Linda  explained  how  she  might  distinguish 
an  eagle  from  a  hawk,  a  hawk  from  a  vulture,  a  sea  bird 
from  those  of  the  land.  When  they  reached  the  bridge 
Linda  climbed  down  the  embankment  to  gather  cress. 
She  was  moved  to  protest  when  Eileen  followed  and 
without  saying  a  word  began  to  assist  her,  but  she  re 
strained  herself,  for  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  it 
would  be  an  excellent  thing  for  Eileen  to  think  more  of 
what  she  was  doing  and  why  she  was  doing  it  than  about 
whether  she  would  wet  her  feet  or  muddy  her  fingers. 
So  the  protest  became  an  explanation  that  it  was  rather 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST      469 

late  for  cress:  the  leaves  toughened  when  it  bloomed  and 
were  too  peppery.  The  only  way  it  could  be  used  agree 
ably  was  to  work  along  the  edges  and  select  the  small 
tender  shoots  that  had  not  yet  matured  to  the  flowering 
point.  When  they  had  an  armload  they  went  back  to 
the  car,  and  without  any  explanation  Linda  drove  into 
Los  Angeles  and  stopped  at  the  residence  of  Judge 
Whiting,  not  telling  Eileen  where  she  was. 

"Friends  of  mine,"  said  Linda  lightly  as  she  stepped  from 
the  car.  "  Fond  of  cress  salad  with  their  dinner.  They  pre 
pare  it  after  the  Jane  Meredith  recipe  to  which  you  called 
my  attention  in  Everybody's  Home  last  winter.  Come 
along  with  me." 

Eileen  stepped  from  the  car  and  followed.  Linda  led 
the  way  round  the  sidewalk  to  where  her  quick  ear  had 
located  voices  on  the  side  lawn.  She  stopped  at  the  kit 
chen  door,  handed  in  the  cress,  exchanged  a  few  laughing 
words  with  the  cook,  and  then  presented  herself  at  the 
door  of  the  summerhouse.  Inside,  his  books  and  papers 
spread  over  a  work  table,  sat  Donald  Whiting.  One  side 
of  him  his  mother  was  busy  darning  his  socks;  on  the  other 
his  sister  Louise  was  working  with  embroidery  silk  and 
small  squares  of  gaily  coloured  linen.  Linda  entered 
with  exactly  the  same  self-possession  that  characterized 
her  at  home.  She  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Whiting, 
Mary  Louise,  and  Donald,  and  then  she  said  quietly: 
"Eileen  and  I  were  gathering  cress  and  we  stopped  to  leave 
you  some  for  your  dinner."  With  this  explanation  she 
introduced  Eileen  to  Mrs.  Whiting.  Mary  Louise  im- 


470  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

mediately  sprang  up  and  recalled  their  meeting  at  River 
side.  Donald  remembered  a  meeting  he  did  not  mention. 
It  was  only  a  few  minutes  until  Linda  was  seated  beside 
Donald,  interesting  herself  in  his  lessons.  Eileen  begged 
to  be  shown  the  pretty  handkerchiefs  that  Mary  Louise 
was  making.  An  hour  later  Linda  refused  an  invitation 
to  dinner  because  Katy  would  be  expecting  them.  When  she 
arose  to  go,  Eileen  was  carrying  a  small  square  of  blue- 
green  linen.  Carefully  pinned  to  it  was  a  patch  of  white 
with  a  spray  of  delicate  flowers  outlined  upon  it,  and 
a  skein  of  pink  silk  thread.  She  had  been  initiated  into 
the  thrillingly  absorbing  feminine  accomplishment  of 
making  sport  handkerchiefs.  When  they  left  Eileen  was 
included  naturally,  casually,  spontaneously,  in  their  invita 
tion  to  Linda  to  run  in  any  time  she  would.  Mary  Louise 
had  said  she  would  ride  out  with  Donald  in  a  few  days 
and  see  how  the  handkerchiefs  were  coming  on,  and  if 
more  instruction  and  different  stitches  and  patterns  were 
necessary,  she  would  love  to  teach  them.  So  Linda  real 
ized  that  Mary  Louise  had  been  told  about  the  trousseau. 
She  knew,  even  lacking  as  she  was  in  feminine  sophistica 
tion,  that  there  were  two  open  roads  to  the  heart  of  a 
woman.  One  is  a  wedding  and  the  other  is  a  baby.  The 
lure  of  either  is  irresistible. 

As  the  Bear-cat  glided  back  to  Lilac  Valley,  Eileen  sat 
silent.  For  ten  years  she  had  coveted  the  entree  to  the 
Whiting  home  perhaps  more  than  any  other  in  the  city. 
Merely  by  being  simple  and  natural,  by  living  her  life  as 
life  presented  itself  each  day,  Linda  with  no  effort  what- 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST       471 

ever  had  made  possible  to  Eileen  the  thing  she  so  deeply 
craved.  Eileen  was  learning  a  new  lesson  each  day — 
some  days  many  of  them — but  none  was  more  amazing, 
more  simple,  or  struck  deeper  into  her  awakened  con 
sciousness.  As  she  gazed  with  far-seeing  eye  on  the  blue 
walls  of  the  valley  Eileen  was  taking  a  mental  inventory 
of  her  former  self.  One  by  one  she  was  arraigning  all  the 
old  tricks  she  had  used  in  her  trade  of  getting  on  in  the 
world.  One  by  one  she  was  discarding  them  in  favour 
of  honesty,  unaffectedness,  and  wholesome  enjoyment. 

Because  of  these  things  Linda  came  home  the  next  after 
noon  and  left  a  bundle  on  Eileen's  bed  before  she  made  her 
way  to  her  own  room  to  busy  herself  with  a  head  piece 
for  Peter's  latest  article.  She  had  taken  down  the  wasp 
picture  and  while  she  had  not  destroyed  it  she  had  turned 
the  key  of  a  very  substantial  lock  upon  it.  She  was  hard 
at  work  when  she  heard  steps  on  the  stairs.  When  Eileen 
entered,  Linda  smiled  quizzically  and  then  broke  into  an 
unaffected  ejaculation. 

"Ripping!"  she  cried.  "Why,  Eileen,  you're  perfectly 
topping." 

Eileen's  face  flamed  with  delight.  She  was  a  challeng 
ing  little  figure.  None  of  them  was  accustomed  to  her 
when  she  represented  anything  more  substantial  than 
curls  and  rufHes. 

Linda  reached  for  the  telephone,  called  Gilman,and  asked 
him  if  he  could  go  to  the  beach  for  supper  that  evening. 
He  immediately  replied  that  he  would.  Then  she  called 
Peter  Morrison  and  asked  him  the  same  question  and  when 


472  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Peter  answered  affirmatively  she  told  him  to  bring  his  car. 
Then  she  hastily  put  on  her  own  field  clothes  and  ran  to 
the  kitchen  to  fill  the  lunch  box.  To  Katy's  delight  Linda 
told  her  there  would  be  room  for  her  and  that  she  needed 
her. 

It  was  evening  and  the  sun  was  moving  slowly  toward 
the  horizon  when  they  stopped  the  cars  and  went  down  on 
the  white  sands  of  Santa  Monica  Bay.  Eileen  had  been 
complimented  until  she  was  in  a  glow  of  delight.  She  did 
not  notice  that  in  piling  things  out  of  the  car  for  their 
beach  supper  Linda  had  handed  her  a  shovel  and  the 
blackened  iron  legs  of  a  broiler.  Everyone  was  loaded 
promiscuously  as  they  took  up  their  march  down  to  as 
near  the  water's  edge  as  the  sands  were  dry.  Peter  and 
John  gathered  driftwood.  Linda  improvised  two  cooking 
places,  one  behind  a  rock  for  herself,  the  other  under  the 
little  outdoor  stove  for  Katy.  Eileen  was  instructed  as 
to  how  to  set  up  the  beach  table,  spread  the  blankets  be 
side  it,  and  place  the  food  upon  it.  While  Katy  made 
coffee  and  toasted  biscuit  Linda  was  busy  introducing 
her  party  to  brigand  beefsteak  upon  four  long  steel 
skewers.  The  day  had  been  warm.  The  light  salt 
breeze  from  the  sea  was  like  a  benediction.  Friendly 
gulls  gathered  on  the  white  sands  around  them.  Cun 
ning  little  sea  chickens  worked  in  accord  with  the  tide: 
when  the  waves  advanced  they  rose  above  them  on  wing; 
when  they  retreated  they  scampered  over  the  wet  sand, 
hunting  any  small  particles  of  food  that  might  have  been 
carried  in.  Out  over  the  water  big  brown  pelicans  went 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST      473 

slowly  fanning  homeward;  and  white  sea  swallows  drew 
wonderful  pictures  on  the  blue  night  sky  with  the  tips  of 
their  wings.  For  a  few  minutes  at  the  reddest  point  of  its 
setting  the  sun  painted  a  marvellous  picture  in  a  bank  of 
white  clouds.  These  piled  up  like  a  great  rosy  castle,  and 
down  the  sky  roadway  before  it  came  a  long  procession  of 
armoured  knights,  red  in  the  sun  glow  and  riding  huge  red 
horses.  Then  the  colours  mixed  and  faded  and  a  long  red 
bridge  for  a  short  time  spanned  the  water,  ending  at  their 
feet.  The  gulls  hunted  the  last  scrap  thrown  them  and 
went  home.  The  swallows  sought  their  high  cliffs.  The 
insidiously  alluring  perfume  of  sand  verbena  rose  like  altar 
incense  around  them.  Oilman  spread  a  blanket,  piled  the 
beach  fire  higher,  and  sitting  beside  Eileen,  he  drew  her 
head  to  his  shoulder  and  put  his  arm  around  her.  Possibly 
he  could  have  been  happier  in  a  careless  way  if  he  had 
never  suffered.  It  is  very  probable  that  the  poignant 
depth  of  exquisite  happiness  he  felt  in  that  hour  never 
would  have  come  to  him  had  he  not  lost  Eileen  and  found 
her  again  so  much  more  worth  loving.  Linda  wandered 
down  the  beach  until  she  reached  the  lighthouse  rocks. 
She  climbed  on  a  high  one  and  sat  watching  the  sea  as  it 
sprayed  just  below.  Peter  Morrison  followed  her. 

"May  I  come  up?"  he  asked. 

"Surely,"  said  Linda,  "this  belongs  to  the  Lord;  it  isn't 


mine." 


So  Peter  climbed  up  and  sat  beside  her. 
"How  did  the  landscape  appeal  to  you  when  you  left  the 
campfire?"  inquired  Linda. 


474  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"  I  should  think  the  night  cry  might  very  well  be,  Eight 
o'clock  and  all's  well,"  answered  Peter. 

"'God's  in  his  heaven,  all's  right  with  the  world?" 
Linda  put  it  in  the  form  of  a  question. 

"It  seems  to  be  for  John  and  Eileen,"  said  Peter. 

"It  is  for  a  number  of  people,"  said  Linda.  "I  had  a 
letter  from  Marian  to-day.  I  had  written  her  to  ask  if  she 
would  come  to  us  for  the  summer,  in  spite  of  the  change  in 
our  plans;  but  Mr.  Snow  has  made  some  plans  of  his  own. 
He  is  a  very  astute  individual.  He  wanted  Marian  to 
marry  him  at  once  and  she  would  not,  so  he  took  her  for  a 
short  visit  to  see  his  daughter  at  her  grandmother's  home 
in  the  northern  part  of  the  state.  Marian  fell  deeply  in 
love  with  his  little  girl,  and  of  course  those  people  found 
Marian  charming,  just  as  right-minded  people  would 
find  her.  When  she  saw  how  the  little  girl  missed  her 
father  and  how  difficult  it  was  for  him  to  leave  her,  and 
when  she  saw  how  she  would  be  loved  and  appreciated  in 
that  fine  family,  she  changed  her  mind.  Peter,  we  are 
going  to  be  invited  to  San  Francisco  to  see  them  married 
very  shortly.  Are  you  glad  or  sorry?" 

"I  am  very  glad,"  said  Peter  heartily.  "I  make  no 
concealment  of  my  admiration  for  Miss  Thorne  but  I  am 
very  glad  indeed  that  it  is  not  her  head  that  is  to  complete 
the  decoration  when  you  start  the  iris  marching  down  my 
creek  banks." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  Linda.  "Of  course  you 
should  have  something  to  say  about  whose  head  finished 
that  picture.  I  can't  contract  to  do  more  than  set  the 


HOW  THE  WASP  BUILT  HER  NEST       475 

iris.  The  thing  about  this  I  dread  is  that  Marian  and 
Eugene  are  going  to  live  in  San  Francisco,  and  I  did  so 
want  her  to  make  her  home  in  Lilac  Valley/' 

"That's  too  bad,"  said  Peter  sympathetically.  "I 
know  how  you  appreciate  her,  how  deeply  you  love  her. 
Do  you  think  the  valley  will  ever  be  right  for  you  without 
her,  Linda?" 

"It  will  have  to  be,"  said  Linda.  "I've  had  to  go  on 
without  Father,  you  know.  If  greater  happiness  seems 
to  be  in  store  for  Marian  in  San  Francisco,  all  I  can  do  is 
to  efface  myself  and  say  'Amen.'  When  the  world  is 
all  right  for  Marian,  it  is  about  as  near  all  right  as  it  can 
be  for  me.  And  did  you  ever  see  much  more  sincerely 
and  deeply  contented  people  than  John  and  Eileen  are 
at  the  present  minute?" 

Peter  looked  at  Linda  whimsically.  He  lowered  his 
voice  as  if  a  sea  urchin  might  hear  and  tattle. 

"What  did  you  do  about  the  wasp,  Linda?"  he  whis 
pered. 

"I  delicately  erased  the  stinger,  fluffed  up  a  ruffle,  and 
put  the  sketch  under  lock  and  key.  I  should  have  started 
a  fire  with  it,  but  I  couldn't  quite  bring  myself  to  let 
it  go,  yet." 

"Is  she  going  to  hold  out?"  asked  Peter. 
"She'll  hold  out  or  get  her  neck  wrung,"  said  Linda. 
"I  truly  think  she  has  been  redeemed.  She  has  been 
born  again.  She  has  a  new  heart  and  a  new  soul  and  a 
new  impulse  and  a  right  conception  of  life.  Why,  Peter, 
she  has  even  got  a  new  body.  Her  face  is  not  the  same." 


476  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

"She  is  much  handsomer,"  said  Peter. 

"Isn't  she?"  cried  Linda  enthusiastically.  "And 
doesn't  having  a  soul  and  doesn't  thinking  about  essential 
things  make  the  most  remarkable  difference  in  her?  It  is 
worth  going  through  a  fiery  furnace  to  come  out  new  like 
that.  I  called  her  Abednego  the  other  day,  but  she 
didn't  know  what  I  meant." 

Then  they  sat  silent  and  watched  the  sea  for  a  long  time. 
By  and  by  the  night  air  grew  chill.  Peter  slipped  from 
the  rock  and  went  up  the  beach  and  came  back  with  an 
Indian  blanket.  He  put  it  very  carefully  around  Linda's 
shoulders,  and  when  he  went  to  resume  his  seat  beside 
her  he  found  one  of  her  arms  stretching  out  with  a  blanket 
corner  for  him.  So  he  sat  down  beside  her  and  drew  the 
corner  over  his  shoulder;  and  because  his  right  arm  was 
very  much  in  his  way,  and  it  would  have  been  very  dis 
agreeable  if  Linda  had  slipped  from  the  rock  and  fallen 
into  the  cold,  salt,  unsympathetic  Pacific  at  nine  o'clock 
at  night — merely  to  dispose  of  the  arm  comfortably  and  to 
ensure  her  security,  Peter  put  it  around  Linda  and  drew  her 
up  beside  him  very  close.  Linda  did  not  seem  to  notice. 
She  sat  quietly  looking  at  the  Pacific  and  thinking  her  own 
thoughts.  When  the  fog  became  damp  and  chill,  she  said 
they  must  be  going,  and  so  they  went  back  to  their  cars 
and  drove  home  through  the  sheer  wonder  of  the  moon 
light,  through  the  perfume  of  the  orange  orchards,  hearing 
the  night  song  of  the  mocking  birds. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
THE  LADY  OF  THE  IRIS 

A  FEW  days  later  Linda  and  Peter  went  to  San 
Francisco  and  helped  celebrate  the  marriage  of 
Marian  and  Eugene  Snow.  They  left  Marian 
in  a  home  carefully  designed  to  insure  every  comfort  and 
convenience  she  ever  had  planned,  furnished  in  accord 
ance  with  her  desires.  Both  Linda  and  Peter  were 
charmed  with  little  Deborah  Snow;  she  was  a  beautiful 
and  an  appealing  child. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Linda,  on  the  train  going  home, 
"that  Marian  will  get  more  out  of  life,  she  will  love 
deeper,  she  will  work  harder,  she  will  climb  higher  in  her 
profession  than  she  would  have  done  if  she  had  married 
John.  It  is  difficult  sometimes,  when  things  are  happen 
ing,  to  realize  that  they  are  for  the  best,  but  I  really  be 
lieve  this  thing  has  been  for  the  level  best.  I  think  Marian 
is  going  to  be  a  bigger  woman  in  San  Francisco  than  she 
ever  would  have  been  in  Lilac  Valley.  With  that  thought 
I  must  reconcile  myself." 

"And  what  about  John?"  asked  Peter.  "Is  he  going 
to  be  a  bigger  man  with  Eileen  than  he  would  have  been 
with  Marian?" 

"No,"  said  Linda,  "he  is  not.  He  didn't  do  right 

477 


478  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

and  he'll  have  a  penalty  to  pay.  Eileen  is  developing  into 
a  lovable  and  truly  beautiful  woman,  but  she  has  not  the 
intellect,  nor  the  education,  nor  the  impulse  to  stimulate  a 
man's  mental  processes  and  make  him  outdo  himself  the 
way  Marian  will.  John  will  probably  never  know  it,  but 
he  will  have  to  do  his  own  stimulating;  he  will  have  to 
vision  life  for  himself.  He  will  have  to  find  his  high  hill  and 
climb  it  with  Eileen  riding  securely  on  his  shoulders.  It 
isn't  really  the  pleasantest  thing  in  the  world,  it  isn't  truly 
the  thing  I  wanted  to  do  this  summer — helping  them  out 
—but  it  has  seemed  to  be  the  work  at  hand,  the  thing 
Daddy  probably  would  have  wanted  me  to  do,  so  it's  up 
to  me  to  do  all  I  can  for  them,  just  as  I  did  all  I  could  for 
Donald.  One  thing  I  shall  always  be  delighted  about. 
With  my  own  ears  I  heard  the  pronouncement:  Donald  had 
the  Jap  beaten;  he  was  at  the  head  of  his  class  before  Oka 
Sayye  was  eliminated.  .  The  Jap  knew  it.  His  only  chance 
lay  in  getting  rid  of  his  rival.  Donald  can  take  the  excel 
lent  record  he  has  made  in  this  race  to  start  on  this  fall 
when  he  commences  another  battle  against  some  other 
man's  brain  for  top  honours  in  his  college." 

"Will  he  start  with  the  idea  that  he  wants  to  be  an 
honour  man?" 

Linda  laughed  outright. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "his  idea  was  that  if  he  were  one  of 
fifty  or  one  hundred  leading  men  it  would  be  sufficient, 
but  I  insisted  that  if  he  wanted  to  be  first  with  me,  he 
would  have  to  be  first  in  his  school  work." 

"I    see,"    said    Peter.     "Linda,    have   you    definitely 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  IRIS  479 

decided  that  when  you  come  to  your  home-making  hour, 
Donald  is  the  man  with  whom  you  want  to  spend  the 
remainder  of  your  life  ? " 

"Oh,  good  gracious !"  said  Linda.  "Who's  talking 
about  'homes'  and  'spending  the  remainder  of  lives?' 
Donald  and  I  are  school  friends,  and  we  are  good  com 
panions.  You're  as  bad  as  Eileen.  She's  always  trying 
to  suggest  things  that  nobody  else  ever  thought  of,  and 
now  Katy's  beginning  it  too." 

"Sap-heads,  all!"  said  Peter.  "Well,  allow  me  to  con 
gratulate  you  on  having  given  Donald  his  spurs.  I  think 
it's  a  very  fine  thing  for  him  to  start  to  college  with  the 
honour  idea  in  his  head.  What  about  your  Saturday 
excursions  ? " 

"They  have  died  an  unnatural  death,"  said  Linda. 
"Don  and  I  fought  for  them,  but  the  Judge  and  Mrs. 
Whiting  and  Mary  Louise  were  terrified  for  fear  a  bone 
might  slip  in  Don's  foot,  or  some  revengeful  friend  or 
relative  of  Oka  Sayye  lie  in  wait  for  us.  They  won't 
hear  to  our  going  any  more.  I  go  every  Saturday  and 
take  Donald  for  a  very  careful  drive  over  a  smooth  road 
with  the  Bear-cat  cursing  our  rate  of  speed  all  the  way. 
All  the  fun's  spoiled  for  all  three  of  us." 

"Think  I  would  be  any  good  as  a  substitute  when  it 
comes  to  field  work?"  inquired  Peter  casually.  "I  have 
looked  at  your  desert  garden  so  much  I  would  know  a 
Cotyledon  if  I  saw  it.  I  believe  I  could  learn." 

"You  wouldn't  have  time  to  bother,"  objected  Linda. 
"You're  a  man,  with  a  man's  business  to  transact  in  the 


48o  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

world.  You  have  to  hustle  and  earn  money  to  pay  for 
the  bridge  and  changing  the  brook." 

"But  I  had  money  to  pay  for  the  brook  and  the  bridge 
before  I  agreed  to  them,"  said  Peter. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Linda,  "you  should  begin  to  hunt 
old  mahogany  and  rugs." 

"I  hadn't  intended  to,"  said  Peter;  "if  they  are  to  be 
old,  I  won't  have  to  do  more  than  to  ship  them.  In  stor 
age  in  Virginia  there  are  some  very  wonderful  old  ma 
hogany  and  rosewood  and  rugs  and  bric-a-brac  enough  to 
furnish  the  house  I  am  building.  The  stuff  belonged  to  a 
little  old  aunt  of  mine  who  left  it  to  me  in  her  will,  and 
it  was  with  those  things  in  mind  that  I  began  my  house. 
The  plans  and  finishing  will  fit  that  furniture  beautifully." 

"Why,  you  lucky  individual!"  said  Linda.  "Nowhere 
in  the  world  is  there  more  beautiful  furniture  than  in  some 
of  those  old  homes  in  Virginia.  There  are  old  Flemish  and 
Dutch  and  British  and  Italian  pieces  that  came  into  this 
country  on  early  sailing  vessels  for  the  aristocrats.  You 
don't  mean  that  kind  of  stuff,  do  you,  Peter?" 

"That  is  precisely  the  kind  of  stuff  I  do  mean,"  an 
swered  Peter. 

"Why  Peter,  if  you  have  furniture  like  that,"  cried 
Linda,  "then  all  you  need  is  Mary  Louise." 

"Linda,"  said  Peter  soberly,  "you  are  trespassing  on 
delicate  ground  again.  You  selected  one  wife  for  me 
and  your  plan  didn't  work.  When  that  furniture  arrives 
and  is  installed  I'll  set  about  inducing  the  lady  of  my 
dreams  to  come  and  occupy  my  dream  house,  in  my  own 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  IRIS  481 

way.  I  never  did  give  you  that  job.  It  was  merely 
assumed  on  your  part." 

"So  it  was,"  said  Linda.  "But  you  know  I  could  set 
that  iris  and  run  that  brook  with  more  enthusiasm  if  I 
knew  the  lady  who  was  to  walk  beside  it." 

"You  do,"  said  Peter.  "You  know  her  better  than 
any  one  else,  even  better  than  I.  Put  that  in  your  mental 
pipe  and  smoke  it!" 

"Saints  preserve  us!"  cried  Linda.  "I  believe  the 
man  is  planning  to  take  Katy  away  from  me." 

"Not /row  you,"  said  Peter,  "with  you." 

"Let  me  know  about  it  before  you  do  it,"  said  Linda 
with  a  careless  laugh. 

"That's  what  I'm  doing  right  now,"  said  Peter. 

"And  I'm  going  to  school,"  said  Linda. 

"Of  course,"  said  Peter,  "but  that  won't  last  for  ever." 

Linda  entered  enthusiastically  upon  the  triple  task  of 
getting  Donald  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind  to  start  to 
college  with  the  ambition  to  do  good  work,  of  marrying 
off  Eileen  and  John  Gilman,  and  of  giving  her  best  brain 
and  heart  to  Jane  Meredith.  When  the  time  came, 
Donald  was  ready  to  enter  college  comfortable  and 
happy,  willing  to  wait  and  see  what  life  had  in  store 
for  him  as  he  lived  it. 

When  she  was  sure  of  Eileen  past  any  reasonable  doubt 
Linda  took  her  and  John  to  her  workroom  one  evening 
and  showed  them  her  book  contract  and  the  material  she 
had  ready,  and  gave  them  the  best  idea  she  could 
of  what  yet  remained  to  be  done.  She  was  not  pre- 


482  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

pared  for  their  whole-hearted  praise,  for  their  delight 
and  appreciation. 

Alone,  they  took  counsel  as  to  how  they  could  best  help 
her,  and  decided  that  to  be  married  at  once  and  take  a 
long  trip  abroad  would  be  the  best  way.  That  would 
leave  Linda  to  work  in  quiet  and  with  no  interruption  to 
distract  her  attention.  They  could  make  their  home 
arrangements  when  they  returned. 

When  they  had  gone  Linda  worked  persistently,  but 
her  book  was  not  completed  and  the  publishers  were  hur 
rying  her  when  the  fall  term  of  school  opened.  By  the 
time  the  final  chapter  with  its  exquisite  illustration  had 
been  sent  in,  the  first  ones  were  coming  back  in  proof, 
and  with  the  proof  came  the  materialized  form  of  Linda's 
design  for  her  cover,  and  there  was  no  Marian  to  con 
sult  about  it.  Linda  worked  until  she  was  confused. 
Then  she  piled  the  material  in  the  Bear-cat  and  headed 
up  Lilac  Valley.  As  she  came  around  the  curve  and 
turned  from  the  public  road  she  saw  that  for  the  first 
time  she  might  cross  her  bridge;  it  was  waiting  for  her. 
She  heard  the  rejoicing  of  the  water  as  it  fell  from  stone  to 
stone  where  it  dipped  under  the  road,  and  as  she  swung 
across  the  bridge  she  saw  that  she  might  drive  over  the 
completed  road  which  had  been  finished  in  her  weeks  of 
absence.  The  windows  told  another  story.  Peter's  fur 
niture  had  come  and  he  had  been  placing  it  without  tell 
ing  her.  She  found  the  front  door  standing  wide  open,  so 
she  walked  in.  With  her  bundle  on  her  arm  she  made 
her  way  to  Peter's  workroom.  When  he  looked  up  and 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  IRIS  483 

saw  her  standing  in  his  door  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
came  to  meet  her. 

"Peter,"  she  said,  "I've  taken  on  more  work  than  I 
can  possibly  finish  on  time,  and  I'm  the  lonesomest  person 
in  California  to-day." 

"I  doubt  that,"  said  Peter  gravely.  "If  you  are  any 
lonesomer  than  I  am  you  must  prove  it." 

"I  have  proved  it,"  said  Linda  quietly.  "If  you  had 
been  as  lonesome  as  I  am  you  would  have  come  to  me. 
As  it  is,  I  have  come  to  you." 

"I  see,"  said  Peter  rather  breathlessly.  "What  have 
you  there,  Linda?  Why  did  you  come?" 

"I  came  for  two  reasons,"  said  Linda.  "I  want  to  ask 
you  about  this  stuff.  Several  times  this  summer  you  have 
heard  talk  about  Jane  Meredith  and  the  Everybody's 
Home  articles.  Ever  read  any  of  them,  Peter?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peter,  "I  read  all  of  them.  Interested  in 
home  stuff  these  days  myself." 

"Well,"  said  Linda,  dumping  her  armload  before  Peter, 
"there's  the  proof  and  there's  the  illustration  and  there's 
the  cover  design  for  a  book  to  be  made  from  that  stuff. 
Peter,  make  your  best  bow  and  say  *  pleased  to  meet  you* 
to  Jane  Meredith." 

Peter  secured  both  of  Linda's  hands  and  held  them. 
First  he  looked  at  her,  then  he  looked  at  the  material  she 
had  piled  down  in  front  of  him. 

"Never  again,"  said  Peter  in  a  small  voice,  "will  I  credit 
myself  with  any  deep  discernment,  any  keen  penetration. 
How  I  could  have  read  that  matter  and  looked  at  those 


484  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

pictures  and  not  seen  you  in  and  through  and  over  them  is 
a  thing  I  can't  imagine.  It's  great,  Linda,  absolutely  great ! 
Of  course  I  will  help  you  any  way  in  the  world  I  can. 
And  what  else  was  it  you  wanted  ?  You  said  two  things." 

"Oh,  the  other  doesn't  amount  to  much,"  said  Linda. 
"I  only  wanted  the  comfort  of  knowing  whether,  as  soon 
as  I  graduate,  I  may  take  Katy  and  come  home,  Peter." 

From  previous  experience  with  Linda,  Peter  had  learned 
that  a  girl  reared  by  men  is  not  as  other  women.  He 
had  supposed  the  other  thing  concerning  which  she  had 
wanted  to  appeal  to  him  was  on  par  with  her  desire  for 
sympathy  and  help  concerning  her  book.  At  her  ques 
tion,  with  her  eyes  frankly  meeting  his,  Peter  for  an  in 
stant  felt  light  headed.  He  almost  dodged,  he  was  so 
sweepingly  taken  unawares.  Linda  was  waiting  and  his 
brain  was  not  working.  He  tried  to  smile,  but  he  knew 
she  would  not  recognize  as  natural  the  expression  of 
that  whirling  moment.  She  saw  his  hesitation. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  don't  want  us,  Peter 

Peter  found  his  voice  promptly.  Only  his  God  knew  how 
much  he  wanted  Linda,  but  there  were  conditions  that  a 
man  of  Peter's  soul-fibre  could  not  endure.  More  than 
life  he  wanted  her,  but  he  did  not  want  her  asleep.  He 
did  not  want  to  risk  her  awakening  to  a  spoiled  life  and 
disappointed  hopes. 

"But  you  remember  that  I  told  you  coming  home  from 
San  Francisco  that  you  knew  the  Lady  of  my  Iris  better 
than  any  one  else,  and  that  I  was  planning  to  take  Katy, 
not  from  you,  but  with  you." 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  IRIS  485 

"Of  course  I  remember/'  said  Linda.  "That  is  why 
when  Marian  and  Eileen  and  Donald  and  all  my  world 
went  past  and  left  me  standing  desolate,  and  my  work 
piled  up  until  I  couldn't  see  my  way,  I  just  started  right 
out  to  ask  you  if  you  would  help  me  with  the  proof.  Of 
course  I  knew  you  would  be  glad  to  do  that  and  I  thought  if 
you  really  meant  in  your  heart  that  I  was  the  one  to 
complete  your  iris  procession,  it  would  be  a  comfort  to 
me  during  the  hard  work  and  the  lonesome  days  to  have  it 
put  in  two-syllable  English.  Marian  said  that  was  the 
only  real  way 

"And  Marian  is  eminently  correct.  You  will  have  to 
give  me  an  ordinary  lifetime,  Linda,  in  which  to  try  to 
make  you  understand  exactly  what  this  means  to  me. 
Perhaps  I'll  even  have  to  invent  new  words  in  which  to 
express  myself." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Linda.  "It  means  a  lot  to 
me  too.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  think  of  you. 
That  first  day,  as  soon  as  I  put  down  the  Cotyledon  safely 
and  tucked  in  my  blouse,  I  would  have  put  my  hand  in 
yours  and  started  around  the  world,  if  you  had  asked  me 
to.  I  have  the  very  highest  esteem  for  you,  Peter." 

"  Esteem, yes,"  said  Peter  slowly.  "  But  Linda-girl,  isn't 
the  sort  of  alliance  I  am  asking  you  to  enter  with  me  usually 
based  on  something  a  good  bit  stronger  than  ' esteem'?" 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is,"  said  Linda.  "But  you  needn't 
worry.  I  only  wanted  the  comfort  of  knowing  that  I  was 
not  utterly  alone  again,  save  for  Katy.  I'll  stick  to  my 
book  and  to  my  fight  for  Senior  honours  all  right." 


486  HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER 

Peter  was  blinking  his  eyes  and  fighting  to  breathe 
evenly.  When  he  could  speak  he  said  as  smoothly  as 
possible:  "Of  course,  Linda.  I'll  do  your  proof  for  you 
and  you  may  put  all  your  time  on  class  honours.  It 
merely  occurred  to  me  to  wonder  whether  you  realized 
the  full  and  ultimate  significance  of  what  we  are  saying; 
exactly  what  it  means  to  me  and  to  you." 

"Possibly  not,  Peter,"  said  Linda,  smiling  on  him  with 
utter  confidence.  "Everyone  says  I  am  my  father's 
daughter,  and  Father  didn't  live  to  coach  me  on  being 
your  iris  decoration,  as  a  woman  would;  but,  Peter,  when 
the  time  comes,  I  have  every  confidence  in  your  ability 
to  teach  me  what  you  would  like  me  to  know  yourself. 
Don't  you  agree  with  me,  Peter?" 

Making  an  effort  to  control  himself  Peter  gathered  up 
the  material  Linda  had  brought  and  taking  her  arm  he  said 
casually:  "I  thoroughly  agree  with  you,  dear.  You  are 
sanely  and  healthfully  and  beautifully  right.  Now  let's 
go  and  take  Katy  into  our  confidence,  and  then  you  shall 
show  me  your  ideas  before  I  begin  work  on  your  proof. 
And  after  this,  instead  of  you  coming  to  me  I  shall  always 
come  to  you  whenever  you  can  spare  a  minute  for  me." 

Linda  nodded  acquiescence. 

"Of  course!  That  would  be  best,"  she  said.  "Peter, 
you  are  so  satisfyingly  satisfactory." 


THE    END 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY    N.  Y. 


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